#but then i think would that even matter when I am the one who's the problem and like can't work to form that connection with anyone?????

[blairenqs]

୨୧ CAUGHT IN THE ACT ✧ SPENCER REID

───── IN WHICH 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗎𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗍 !

𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝖻𝖿!spencer 𝓍 𝒻! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 1.1𝖪 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍, 𝗌𝗁𝗒 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 ♡ ⎯⎯ 𝖠𝖱𝖢𝖧𝒾𝖵𝖤

LUNCH BREAKS AT THE BAU were a rare occurrence, and peaceful ones were practically nonexistent.

so when spencer quietly asked you to join him in his car for a moment of privacy, you couldn’t possibly say no.

the bullpen was loud, filled with agents and cases to be discussed, and even the break room wasn’t safe from the work chatter.

now you were here, sitting in the passenger seat of spencer’s old, slightly cluttered car. his bag sat in the back, along with a few scattered books and the faint smell of coffee lingered in the air.

he sat beside you, legs awkwardly angled in the tight space, his knee brushing yours every so often as he shifted around nervously.

“this feels risky,” spencer mumbled, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his cardigan. his voice was a whisper as his eyes scanned around the parking lot, looking for any signs of movement though it was highly unlikely anybody from your team would make their way to the parking lot.

“you think everything’s risky, spence.” you teased, leaning a little closer to him. the corners of your mouth quirked up as you added, “but that doesn’t mean you’re not enjoying it.” —READ MORE!

his lips parted to respond, but instead of words, a soft laugh escaped his mouth. “i am,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing that same endearing pink. “it’s just.. you know how the others are already suspecting of our relationship— especially morgan! if he even suspects anything, he’ll—”

“—never let it go,” you finished for him, grinning. “i know. but we’re fine, spence. no one’s looking for us.”

he hesitated, his hand moving near yours on the console. you took the initiative, gently wrapping your fingers around his.

his hand was warm, a little clammy from nerves, but it fit perfectly in yours. that small touch seemed to ground him, and his shoulders relaxed slightly as he turned to look at you.

the way he looked at you. soft, hesitant, like he was still in awe that this was real—made your heart warm.

slowly, you leaned closer, your hand brushing against his cheek to bring him forward. he didn’t resist, tilting his head just enough to meet you halfway.

when your lips finally met, it was as sweet and careful as ever, his kiss unhurried and slow, as if he were savoring every second.

his hand rested lightly on your thigh, the touch barely there, yet it sent a sharp shiver down your spine nonetheless—as spencers touch always did.

spencer kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, and in moments like this, it felt like you were—no cases, no crime scenes, just you and him.

the kiss deepened naturally, getting more heated by the second—his lips getting needier and searching against yours.

you could still feel the nervous energy of making out in such an exposed area in the way his fingers tightened slightly around yours, but you also felt the trust in the way he leaned into you, his body relaxing more with each passing second.

until you heard it.

a sharp knock on the driver’s side window.

you and spencer both flinched so hard that you bumped into each other, breaking the kiss with an awkward clash of foreheads.

spencer let out a startled, high pitched “ow!” while you turned toward the window, your heart pounding in your chest.

there he was, grinning like a dog who just found a tiny new toy, stood derek morgan. he leaned down slightly, his hands around his eyes to see better through the glass. “am i interrupting something?” he asked, his voice muffled but unmistakably smug and teasing.

spencer’s face went red, and you and him froze like a deer in headlights. for a few seconds, neither of you moved, the tension thick in the cramped car.

finally, with great reluctance, spencer reached over and pressed the button to roll the window down.

the glass slid down with an agonizing slowness, revealing morgan’s face in full, his grin practically glowing.

“well, well, well,” he said, folding his arms on the window ledge. “what do we have here? dr. reid and…” he turned his gaze to you, raising an eyebrow. “i should’ve known. you’ve been sneaking off an awful lot lately.”

spencer’s mouth opened and closed a few times, no words managing to escape. his cheeks were so red you thought he might combust on the spot. “morgan, i—this isn’t—we weren’t—”

morgan held up a hand, cutting him off. “save it, pretty boy. i don’t need the explanation. i saw what i saw.” he glanced between the two of you, his grin somehow growing wider. “and might i just say—wow. didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”

you couldn’t help it, you burst out laughing. it was nervous laughter—sure, but it broke the tension, and you leaned back in your seat, shaking your head.

“come on morgan, don’t you have something better to do than stalk the parking lot?”

“oh, this is better,” morgan shot back, his tone teasing. he straightened up, giving spencer a pointed look.

“you’re lucky it was me and not hotch who caught you two sneaking around. or worse—garcia. you know how she loves gossip.”

spencer groaned, burying his face in his hands. “please don’t tell garcia,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by his hands.

morgan laughed, resting his hand on the car door. “relax, kid. your secret’s safe with me. for now.” he paused, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “but if you owe me a favor down the line, don’t be surprised if i cash it in, oh—make sure you kids don’t get too lost in the smooching, hotch was looking for you both earlier.”

with that, he turned and walked away, still chuckling to himself as he headed back toward the building.

you turned to spencer, who was still hiding behind his hands. “hey,” you said softly, nudging his knee with yours. “it’s okay. he’s just messing with us.”

spencer peeked at you through his fingers, his face still flushed. “this is exactly why i didn’t want anyone to find out,” he muttered.

you smiled, reaching over to gently pull his hands away from his face. “morgan isn’t going to tell anyone. and even if he does, who cares? they’re our friends. they’ll be happy for us.”

he looked at you for a long moment, his expression softening at your smile. “you’re too calm about this,” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief as he leaned his head into your shoulder.

“that’s because i know something you don’t,” you teased, leaning in closer.

“what’s that?”

“that no one could possibly tease you more than morgan just did,” you said, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

despite his anxiousness of the situation, spencer laughed, his shoulders finally relaxing. and even though the lunch break didn’t go as expected, at least the two of you wouldn’t have to hide away something so beautiful anymore—and that made it all the sweeter.

𝖱𝖤𝖡𝖫𝖮𝖦𝖲 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖢𝖨𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖣 ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

© blairenqs 2025 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

✧ 𝑓. FIRST FIC COMPLETED !! please feel free to leave any requests 🫶🫶 i love spencer so much shushdjdj

[starsinthesky5]

I think about this more than a healthy amount for some reason, so I gotta get it out there.

Joe really doesn’t like being called “Joey”. It’s just a childhood name that he feels he’s grown out of. BUT I think he’d have such a soft spot for his girl calling him Joey 🥹 maybe it catches him off guard the first time she lets it slip, but he likes it a lot more than he thought he would. And from then on he only wants to be her Joey and he gets all pouty when she just calls him Joe.

Soft cuddly little Joey bear is my favorite (grumpy irritated Joe is a very close second)

say it, please || joe burrow x reader

description: the ask pretty much sums it up!!

a/n: wow? another blurb? who am i?? this might be how i get back on track with YBWM and I'm not complaining!! again, rushed, written in a few hours, so please don't tell me if you hate it

word count: 1.9 k

warnings: fluffy fluff fluff

taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyb1989 @joeyburrrow @softburrow @burrowbarbie @yelenasbraid @lovelyburrow @yelenasbraid @starkeyswomen @grittysbiggestfan @definitelynotdomanique @lilfreakjez @fourburrow

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

oh joe absolutely despises it when people call him joey. no matter who it is, his mom, his dad, his closest childhood friends, even his nana. he just hates it. he’d complain about how it was too “babyish” and “embarrassing”, and that joe was more adult and manly. joey didn’t fit that stone-cold, joe cool persona he had going on…joey was more like “oh, here’s our soft, cuddly, teddy bear QB1” and he grimaced every time he thought about it. 

until you came around.

you knew that he didn’t like the cute little nickname, it was one of the first things robin had warned you about when you had your first one-on-one talk with her. you never really understood why he hated it, because his reasoning seemed pretty dumb. it was just a nickname, right? and it perfectly matched how he’d get when he had those adorable puppy dog eyes and rosy cheeks. it was just so right. 

but you loved joe, so naturally you respected his wishes just as he respected yours. you dropped the idea of the nickname and carried on. 

until one lazy sunday afternoon in the middle of february. 

you were doing your best attempt at shielding yourself from the bitter winter cold, curled up on the couch with your oversized plush bengals blanket and wearing one of joe’s old LSU hoodies. in your lap was your tablet, and the app opened up was your sketchpad. you worked in graphic design, so you were naturally always found with your apple pencil between your fingers and with this app on the screen in front of you. the latest project you had was not the usual kind—this one was a favor called in by a local cafe, a hidden gem in the heart of the queen city which happened to be one of joe’s favorite spots since he came to cincy. it was quiet, hidden, intimate, and the perfect spot to have a normal conversation with normal people; just how joe liked it. so when he had leisurely strolled into the cafe as usual one day after practice, he found himself caught up in a conversation with the owner (more so his newest best friend considering he went to the cafe every single day after practice) and the topic at hand was their recent obsessions. it was silly, but it was a good conversation to have over smoothies & muffins after a grueling day as star quarterback joe burrow. sometimes he just wanted to be joe again, especially with his friends, and this cafe was a great place to do so. 

anyway, for steve, his obsession was the latest addition to his cafe. a shiny new espresso machine with too many settings and advancements to count. 

for joe, it honestly should’ve been obvious to anyone with working eyes considering every time he thought about it out loud or in his mind—which was a lot—his cheeks turned pink and his eyes softened like he was a stick of melting butter. there was only one thing that could make joe feel and look like that, and everyone in town knew what it was. i mean, it was the hottest topic once you showed up on the sidelines wearing that initial around your neck before the wild card game against the ravens. 

his recent obsession was none other than his lovely, adorable, larger than life…future wife. 

his precious girlfriend.

you. 

he was going on and on about you with that goofy boyish smile to the point where steve was questioning if joe was drunk, high, delirious, or all of the above and just deeply unwell. and honestly, he was. 

he was completely, totally, and utterly lovesick. 

joe rambled on about anything and everything related to you. from your unique hobbies like forging & pressing flowers into journals and resin molds, to your interests that didn’t involve sitting in the stands and cursing out referees for bullshit penalties, and even your cute little habits such as spraying joe’s cologne on your hoodies while he was at an away game so that you could still be close to him. he just loved to talk about you, to tell people how you and everything about you had been such a breath of fresh air in his suffocating life. you were the change of pace he so desperately needed, and he was going to make sure the entire world knew of that. 

then, he started telling steve about your passion for graphic design. you worked full-time at a PR firm for it, but that didn’t stop you from dabbling into side projects in which you had complete control. you’ve designed things like wedding invitations, baby announcements, birthday cards, and even a few shirt designs for your old high school. you were extremely talented, so obviously he’d show you off in that sense too. he loved how hardworking, independent, and creative you were.

that conversation joe had with steve was how you now ended up re-designing steve’s cafe’s logo for him. you really didn’t mind doing it, not that you could say no if you did mind anyway. you knew steve was joe’s friend so if you said no for a good reason, he’d understand, but if word got out that joe burrow’s girlfriend refused to help out a local cafe with something like this…whew. bad bad PR. so, it was a good thing that you loved designing and sketching in your free time because there was no reason for you to say no. everyone would be happy :)

as you twirled your pencil in your hand, gliding the tip along the screen to perfect the border of the design, you felt a weight press down on your shoulder—warm, soft, and familiar. 

joe. 

he really loved watching you do your thing, bonus points if he got to cuddle with you while you were doing your thing, so this was a natural place for him to be found now. you were completely focused on the task at hand, that you didn’t realize when he started talking to you. your ears picked up on bits and pieces of what he was saying, but most of it was drowned out by your own inner thoughts as you contemplated over which shade of green to use in the logo. 

“...so, is it okay if we order in from gloria’s tonight instead of going out in the storm?” he asked, his warm breath tickling your skin as he pushed himself further into the crook of your neck. he’d hide in there if he could, maybe even nestle himself inside your pocket to be as close to you as humanly possible. 

you heard him, and you thought you responded, but that must’ve been in your imagination because then you felt him gently poke your thigh to get your attention. “oh, hm?” you hummed, slightly tilting your head down to see him but keeping your gaze fixed on the screen in front of you. “...yeah, that’s fine joey,” you mumbled, not aware of what you were saying, and what name you just said. 

his heart stuttered in his chest, skipping a beat before picking up again, softer this time—like it was melting right into his ribs. that name, the one that usually made him cringe, that usually made him irritated, suddenly felt…warm. safe. like something sacred.  

because it came from you.  

you weren’t teasing him. you weren’t babying him. you just said it, all soft and dreamy, like it was the most natural thing in the world. like it belonged to him, to you—to both of you.  

joe blinked, his lips parting slightly, his body no longer tense against you but loose, relaxed in a way he didn’t even know he could be. his fingers twitched against his lap, itching to reach for you, to pull you close, to hear you say it again.  

“yeah?” he murmured, voice quieter now, hesitant almost.  

you finally peeled your eyes away from the screen, meeting his gaze, and that’s when it really hit him. the warmth in your expression, the way your lips curled ever so slightly, the way you looked at him like he was your favorite person in the entire world.  

god.  

and from then on, he only wanted to be your joey.  not joe. not burrow. not anything else. just your joey.  

and he made it painfully obvious.  

the first time you called him just joe after that, it was like you stole the sun right out of his sky. his face fell so fast it was almost humorous—eyebrows knitted together, lips pressed into the softest little pout as he stared at you like you’d just broken his heart.  

“what?” you blinked, confused at his odd expression.  

he huffed, shifting closer to you on the couch, arms crossing over his chest in the most dramatic sulk you’d ever seen. “nothing,” he mumbled, but it was so very much something.  

you tilted your head, studying him, before realization hit you.”oh my god,” you gasped, a slow grin creeping onto your face. “are you pouting because i called you joe?”.

he stayed silent. just pouted harder.  

you laughed, reaching over to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his warm, slightly flushed cheeks. “baby, do you wanna be my little joey again?”.

his lashes fluttered, shoulders dropping as he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. and then, so quiet, so needy, it almost made your heart burst—  

“say it, please.” 

your breath hitched.  

oh.  

his voice was barely above a whisper, but you could feel it—the weight of his words, the way he needed to hear it from you, how it felt different when it came from your lips. he didn’t just want the name. he wanted you saying it, holding it close like it was something precious. like he was something precious.  

you softened, pulling him impossibly closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then his temple, then the corner of his mouth. “okay, joey,” you whispered against his lips, the name dripping in warmth, in love, in everything he ever wanted to hear from you.  

he melted instantly, arms wrapping tight around your waist, his face nuzzling into your neck like he never wanted to leave. and god, he didn’t. he wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped up in you, basking in the way you said his name like it belonged to you and you alone.  

because it did.  

no one else could say it like you. no one else could make his chest ache in the best way, could make his heart stutter and swell all at once. no one else could make him love the name he once hated.  

only you.  

his girl. his love. his everything.  

your joey.  

only yours. always.

–the end–

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 16 - did i mean nothing?

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language, angst

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

the cold night air hit your tear streaked face as sarah, cleo and kie led you out the club.

"hey it's okay, you don't need to stay and watch that bullshit. what a great fucking friend cara is." sarah spoke.

"i didn't like her as soon as i met her" cleo mentioned.

"not right now cleo." kie shushed her. "look, it was all from her side right? rafe wasn't doing anything or initiating anything back so everything is ok i promise." she said, wiping your tears.

"i know you're right" you agreed, "i just can't believe she would do this. i don't understand."

"she's a cunt is what she is." sarah firmly said, earning a small smile from you. "i'm sending her home first thing tomorrow. i'll pay for her flight."

"no sarah stop."

"i'm serious, don't want her anywhere near you or us or him."

"oh fuck." cleo said, panic overtaking her face.

"what?" you mumbled, your heart racing at her distress.

"i am so sorry y/n," cleo whispered.

"cleo." your stomach dropping, "what is it?"

she turned her phone around and your heart dropped at the screen. rafe and cara face to face, lips almost touching. there was no denying the photo.

"oh my god" your voice fell, tears threatening to fall again.

the girls said nothing, but rubbed your back as you sobbed on the side of the pavement. no words could describe the way you were feeling.

"lets get you home y/n, i'll take you to mine." sarah finally spoke.

after a long, silent taxi ride home, you got out the car and straight into sarah's bed, tears not stopping.

you felt drained, your chest aching. the girls had tried everything to distract you, but you couldn't stop staring at the photo, like staring at it long enough would make it disappear.

but it wouldn't. it was real.

you couldn't process that rafe would do this to you. the boy who had loved you, written songs about you, confessed his deepest issues to you, trusted you. how could he have let this happen? did the last 8 months mean nothing to him?

"okay no more of that." sarah said, taking the phone out of your hands. "do you really think he would do that to you? i mean the photo isn't clear, he could've been talking to her?"

"come on sarah. you saw them together too." you mumbled.

"i just don't get it. he is so in love with you." she replied.

"cleary not." you huffed.

"that's not true and you know it." kie said.

"he told me i was different. that he'd never felt this way before." you spoke as the tears falling again. "i don't know what to do."

"look, we don't know the full story ok? there is nothing we can do." cleo chimed in. "i know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you're going to be okay."

"and i swear to god, when you're ready, we'll make sure they regret this." kie stated.

you swallowed hard. regret. did rafe even feel regret? did cara? or were they still at the club, laughing, dancing, kissing, like none of this even mattered?

your stomach twisted. did you even matter?

sarah must’ve sensed the storm in your head because she gently took your hand, squeezing it. “don’t do that. don’t let them make you feel like you weren’t enough. they weren’t enough for you.”

you let out a bitter laugh, eyes still glossy. “then why does it feel like i’m the one who lost everything?”

kie sighed. “because you’re a good person y/n. and they’re not.”

you wanted to believe that. you really did.

instead, all you could do was lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to breathe through the pain.

because no matter how much your friends reassured you, one thought haunted you.

rafe had promised forever,

and forever had ended with a single photo.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: sorry guys😩 you all knew it was coming

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes@judesgfirl@4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1 @amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld@blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy@bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @kittenjujusblog @bambii1i @thesunflowersociety @wtfdudesblog

[cl4ssyjazzy]

I've had this draft for who knows how long, I am not gonna make this longer. I'm just gonna release it here in the wild. I saw this piece of fanart, wrote all of this, went to sleep, and woke up having forgotten everything about this and leaving it in draft purgatory for a while. Enjoy

Little mermaid AU but make it an amalgamation of the Hans Christian Andersen version, the disney version, and svsss:

Shen Yuan just couldn't understand, or refused to understand a few facts of life.

Firstly, he couldn't understand why that muttonhead of an author couldn't sit his clock-watcher behind on a chair and do what he must: write more of those famous childrens fairytales of his. Shen Yuan needed more light literature to read- that amused his siblings! (Clearly) But being apparently unwilling to work, the buffon that gave life to such stories was constantly going on long holidays with those drunken, draffsacked so called friends of his.

to clarify, it was not that he particularly cared for the fairytales!! He was, after all, no longer a child. He had been of age for a long time, a highly educated man yet to marry, still loving on his father's state. So of course, upon learning of the author, he had done some... perusing of his other, more recent works, and to say he was disappointed was a light understatement. His novels paled in comparison to his other works, his poems and fairy tales. Who cared for all those auto-biographies he was publishing as of lately? If you asked him, he could throw those in a ditch somewhere in his beloved spanish cities he bragged so much about.

He had sent several letters to Hans Christian Andersen expressing his overall disappointment in his abysmal drop in quality in those tales about travel and "charming bazaars". He had also, kindly advised him to stop with those feables attempts to become a "serious novelist", and to go back to forget those foolish desires of grandeur and focus on his far superior hability to write children's books. Sadly he had not received a response and he was starting to doubt he would ever get one. Some authors just couldn't handle any criticism! He wished someone could think about killing that bloody author!! Had his favourite books been his own, rather than that bastard's, he would truly be happy and satisfied!! A-And he would care for the characters in a far more delicate way!

For example, why should the protagonists in his books suffer so much? Aren't children's tales supposed to be happier? The mother duck in "The ugly ducklings" should have either noticed the difference in the physiognomy of the egg and taken it out of the nest before it hatched as one would assume is the normal behavior of such animal, or accepted the "ugly" duckling and raised it as one of her own like a mother ought to do in normal, more human, circumstances.

And the moral wasn't even that great. He personally believed that a creature needn't be considered pretty to be treated fairly, since only one's character truly matters for one to be respectable. If the author believed so as well, clearly the duckling should have stayed ugly in the end! "Do not judge people based on its looks" says the quack author, but he isn't willing to truly accept his own morals! What a hypocrite! He had similar criticism for all his books, and "The ugly duckling" wasn't even one of his and his siblings, favourite tale.

The book he had the most to say about would be his sister's favorite book: "The little merman". He quite agreed with his sister's assessment of it being the best of the bunch: The prose was well constructed, the characters mostly delightful, and the setting sparked decent conversation, but the tale was one of the saddest he had ever read!

The story was about a young merman prince called Luo Binghe; a beautiful and fair soul who falls in love with a veiled human princess named Liu Mingyan, rumored to be the most beautiful girl in the world. They meet when she falls off board on a trip to a neighboring country and Luo Binghe saves her from drowning, accidentally revealing her face and falling in love with her at first sight.

Ever the relentless romantic, he looks for any possible way to reunite with his love, and that's when he's tricked by the evil sea witch Shen Quingqiu!!

Shen Quingqiu, makes him sign a terrible contract where he promises his soul and blood in exchange for the ability to meet his lover. And if that didn't sound terrible enough, in order for the metamorphosis to take place and legs to grow in place of a tail, Shen Qingqiu cuts Luo Binghe's tongue and tail in half!! And if THAT didn't sound terrible and violent enough, the spell would only become permanent if he successfully kissed the princess after only three days!! If he failed at the task, he was doomed to a life under the witch's torture!! Truly such a pitiful end!

Poor Luo Binghe accepted, but as soon as he took to land and caught a glimpse of his lover, he realized she was already promised to another!! Who she believed was the one who saved her from drowning!!

But still he never gives up. Once he had gained access to the palace by working as a servant, he tried to charm the princess and stop the marriage from taking place. But it was of no use. It was the princess duty to marry since she had no living siblings to take the throne, even if she had been charmed by him, they could never be together.

It was in this moment of despair that NingYingYing appeared in front of Luo Binghe. She was the merman's childhood best friend, and a beautiful, dedicated girl. The sweet mermaid had successfully convinced the evil Shen Qingqiu to make another deal with her, taking advantage of the fact that he liked her to lessen Luo Binghe's sentence. She had given the witch 10 years of her life in exchange for a magical sword that Luo Binghe could use to kill Liu Mingyan, become human forever, and escape from Shen Qingqiu's cursed deal as long as he never touched sea again.

Luo Binghe stares at the sword, but he can't bring himself to kill Liu Mingyan. He uses the sword to kill himself instead, his soul becoming sea foam and escaping Shen Qingqiu forever.

...

WHAT?

He had always hated this ending. WHY did Luo Binghe DIE in the end?? He had been nothing but a loyal lover, a pure romantic soul!! Why must he accept the terrible fate of never knowing peace as lowly sea foam!! He should have killed the bastard Shen Qingqiu!! He is the actual villain, who gives Luo Binghe the worst deals in existence just to see him suffer and die!! And he doesn't even get punished in the end!! In its stead it is the protagonist who constantly gets the short end of the stick.

It's on a restless night, having just put his siblings to sleep, that he decides to write another of his strongly worded letters to that bastard of an author. He writes long into the night, as his ink runs thin, and the candle is almost burnt. He writes, and writes, forgetting the chill, forgetting the rest, and even forgetting his weak constitution, that which prevented him from properly traveling, and working, and leaving his father's state at all. He keeps forgetting, until the candle no longer casts any light. Until the ink has long dried on his quill and forehead sat upon the letter on his desk. And as the morning light returns, he forgets to wake up.

Shen Yuan just couldn't understand, or refused to understand a few facts of life.

Firstly, Hans Christian Andersen's stupidity.

Secondly, why man is not created equal. Why had he been born frail and weak?

And most importantly... Why had he woken up in a dimly lit cave, with 8 TENTACLES INSTEAD OF LEGS?

little mermaid prince bunhe and one delusional sea witch 🐠❣️🐙

[cloudskyana]

astrology observations iv

note: take what resonates, these are only based on my own observations.

the sign and the ruler of your midheaven says a lot about your career path or the jobs that you are likelt to excel.

venus conjunct uranus can make people seek a lot of variety in relationships. i am not saying that they are non-committal, it’s just they are willing to explore and learn a lot before settling down.

i think the most avoidant moon signs when it comes to their feelings are scorpio and capricorn moon. it takes a lot for them to open up and be vulnerable. aquarius and sagittarius moon are not in denial, but it takes a lot for them to realize their feelings about a situation.

mars in scorpio and capricorn are the most passionate and hardworking mars signs.

i have noticed that taurus moons are good at physical arts like crocheting, make-up, painting.

having uranus in the 1st house of solar return chart indicates that your physical appearance may change a lot in that year. i had this placement once, and i have learned to apply make-up and cosmetics in that year. i also cut my hair short.

having a 12th house synastry with someone, especially venus, makes you yearn that person for a long time. i have this synastry with someone, and everytime i would tell myself that i already forgot them, they will randomly pop in my mind again and appear in my dreams, then i will think about them again, and the cycle continues.

contrary to popular opinion, 6th house synastry is not boring. in fact, when you have this synastry with someone, you can talk to them about anything especially your daily lives and practical matters. it reminds me of two people who have acts of service and quality time as their love language. they will always be there to help, may be it big or trivial things.

having a lot of gemini placements, whether someone is an earth or water sun, makes them talkative, have a good sense of humor, or excel in hosting.

mercury trine or sextile venus makes someone have a good voice suitable for singing.

venus square neptune in synastry makes both people put each other on a pedestal. this is one of the synastry placements for always seeing the other one in a rose colored glasses, even though they may already exhibit red flags.

having 8th and 12th house placements makes someone a psychic or have a talent for being a psychologist, astrologer, or a tarot reader.

—

those who are interested on my paid readings, go to this post.

[meritski]

dangerously yours • wanderer x gn!reader

Wanderer never liked the stars, so it made his lips twitch upwards slightly when he noticed how the cosmos were trying to copy the shine of your eyes. It was doing a horrible job, and here you were— mesmerized by it. Hah, how amusing.

The lies of Teyvat could never outshine you. Yet you seemed unaware of that.

How could he tell you the truth, which would lead you to watch the stars through tears? Which would lead your eyes to lose their brightness? A trait of yours that he adored? Never. He could never do that to you.

“Look, a shooting star!” The excitement of your tone made him snap out of his thoughts. “Did you wish?”

“Oh,” He was too caught up in watching you instead of the stars, it seemed. “I didn’t have the time.” The words slipped between his lips before he could even think. "Didn't have the time", coming from him— compared to you? Very funny.

Sometimes he regrets it. Maybe if he had wished that you were two other people— two people who need not say goodbye; the universe would pity him and listen, just for this once.

And sometimes, he doesn’t. Because you looked breathtaking that day(you always do), even though he didn’t have the breath you could have taken. If he did, all of them would belong to you, he swears upon it.

Noticing your curious gaze, he guessed you’d ask what he could possibly wish for. But the question never came, which caught him off guard. Instead, you proposed an idea. A silly one, but still endearing nonetheless. Just like you.

“Next time, then.”

He never saw any of them after you, which made him believe you were his shooting star, the only star he believed in, instead. It was a shame that none of the wishes he made while looking at you came true. You were the brightest of them all, who shone across his memory with a warm light. One that he would never forget.

You would betray him, surely. He had known that from the start. Yet he also betrayed himself by not considering this a betrayal. Because how could someone as heavenly as you do something so sinful? How could someone’s words that sound like verses— he repeats them every night, engraving them into his memory so he will never forget them, as if he is a worshipper— be a lie?

He will live a long time— an eternity without you. This makes him wonder, is the only eternity he’ll gain from this cruel world a life without you? If so, he doesn’t want it. Even though it’s what he yearned for his entire life, you are what he will long for for the rest.

He will look into the faces of passersby, hoping to find something that will, for an instant, bring you back to him. Yet none of them compare with yours. Nor can they try to remind him of you. Yours was sculpted in his mind, he didn’t dare to dirty it with some forgettable facades that didn’t matter. You deserved much more than that.

Moonlit nights will feel strangely empty because there will be no answer when he calls your name into them. The sky you two once watched is starless now. He doesn’t have anything in his mind, other than you. And he doesn’t think he’ll in the future, either. His mind, thoughts, body, past and future, soul— everything belongs to you.

Always, the empty space in his chest will be aching for you. A cold reminder that he didn’t have a heart that could have belonged to you. If he did, all of it would belong to you. He, again, swears upon it.

You're something to believe in again— yet you are the type of person who has ceased to exist for him. He truly hates that.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ notes!

☆ the artblock + uni combo soloed me i am afraid </3

☆ the dangerously yours quotes on my fyp and my unhealthy obsession with wanderer resulted in this haha, not really my best work and it's also not proofread— yeah, it might get rewritten !!

☆ i actually was editing one of my drafts for kinich last time i checked... how did it come to this >,:

☆ i hope you guys liked it, hehe <3

[just-a-space-duck]

So About That Armor…

I regret to inform myself that I like it.

If you haven't seen it:

I'll give you time to take it in. This is a static, (hopefully) eternal text post, so take your time.

Ok so before I go further, you are allowed to have any and all opinions about the armor. Do not listen to me; I am a stranger on the internet who attaches himself to fictional murder cyborgs and treats them like kitty cats.

So first of all, it's weird. And I like it for that. Even if I found it to be the most infuriating piece of costume design ever, I still wouldn't be able to help but respect it for how strange it is.

When it comes to fanworks, adaptations, new installments in a franchise, or even just different takes on the same trope, I love it when creators take things in an unconventional or even seemingly unrelated direction that upon closer inspection still relates to the base or original concept. To get what I mean, think goth interpretations of Rarity or Cosmopoliturtle's Pokémon redesigns. The TV series armor sits alongside these for me, because this was the thought process of the designer, Tommy Arnold:

First of all, it is so funny that The Company would just brand their armor and by extension their secunits, their combat/security products, like Louis Vuitton bags. Also, the logo of The Company strikes a nice balance between being simple enough to be easily reproducible and recognizable, but complex enough to read as a logo and not just a simple shape or pattern. Plus, The Company logo being mostly just concentric Cs, clever there.

But there's also some worldbuilding and character expression in this design.

The Corporation Rim is just capitalism but more. A company slathering everything and everyone they create and own in mountains of logos, even when it's potentially impractical, showcases just how extensive corporatism is in this setting. Additionally, this design could be something of a status marker. Secunits are high end additions and/or alternatives to other security measures. Much like how logos on purses, tennis shoes, and cars serve to tell observers, "I have the fancy, expensive version of [insert category of thing here] ergo I am a very wealthy/powerful/cool person", a secunit covered in corporate logos communicates the high status and access of the client(s).

Now what was one of the first things we learned about Murderbot in the books? It disabled its governor module, the thing preventing it from defying orders and having any level of freedom, but instead of doing what it could to leave The Company, Murderbot just stayed with it and kept doing its intended function. For over four years. What else do we learn in the first book? That it feels most comfortable in the armor because this prevents humans from seeing its face, from treating it more like a person or human rather than a tool or bot. This makes the armor being composed of the logo of the group that both created and hurt Murderbot very symbolic.

Murderbot has internalized the message that it is a dangerous weapon and not a person deserving of care to the point that, at least at the beginning of the series, it shies away from anything that insists that it deserves the same kindness that humans do. It's only ever been taught what the company built it to do, so it doesn't know what to do next once it's obtained some semblance of freedom for itself by disabling its mental shock collar and so keeps doing what it's always done, even though it very much would rather not be in such a situation. Even by the most recent book, System Collapse, Murderbot is still wrestling with the idea that it matters beyond how it can assist others. Murderbot finding comfort hiding behind the very thing that will not let you forget the company that enslaves it, is just juicy theming.

Also, the helmet looking so weird works well with how many humans don't know what secunits look like, with some not even thinking they have human-like faces. If you had no context for this image, you might very well assume this is a fully robot character or even a statue.

I have my own gripes and worries and hopes concerning the upcoming show, but I just couldn’t get this fun bit of character design analysis out of my head. Shouldn’t have watched so much TB Skyen.

[britcision]

So what you’re saying is, you don’t think 700 people going missing in a single park is a problem, because it’s not millions?

I never said it was a hugely high rate or a daily affair, just that it happens a lot more than people think (since, as you yourself noted, people are assuming these are very safe attractions), and it is always a risk on these trails

I’ll admit, I can’t find the specific article I got 3 permanent staff (which gods I still hope they’re rangers because the alternative is worse but yeah, I should have specified)… because there are too many articles from rangers all over the country talking about how dangerous this will be

Have a couple for funsies:

https://www.sfgate.com/news/article/trump-administration-fires-1-000-workers-at-20174248.php

https://www.sfgate.com/national-parks/article/hiring-freeze-national-parks-job-offers-rescinded-20052544.php

https://www.sfgate.com/national-parks/article/senators-warn-national-parks-could-close-20154149.php

Now, these are all from the same source, because I limited the search to where I got the number from

I think our main difference of opinion here is how we look at those numbers; you’re looking at them as a probability, compared to the numbers of people visiting the park, which makes them look very low

I am looking at them as numbers of people who largely survived a dangerous situation (as I noted, which you may not have caught? Since I said most of them resolved well?) that will not have the same tools and resources to survive over the next two years

Even if only 50 people actually die because search and rescue could not operate effectively, that is a very high number of people who died because of budget cuts. 20 people dying for a budget cut is a lot of people dying for a budget cut.

One bus full of people falling through a hole in a bridge per year should not be an acceptable sacrifice, no matter how many other buses cross that bridge without hitting the hole.

The size of the number relative to other numbers is not why I call it significant. It’s the value of each unit being counted.

The number of people who do end up needing help is also likely to significantly increase because the maintenance on these trails is not going to happen this spring or potentially at all unless something very important changes

Now, some trails won’t have drastic changes in terrain from winter storms, or hurricane season; they still need maintenance at least to ensure that trail markers remain present and legible

The fact that some seasonal workers will still be hired - less than usual - will not make up for the fact that there will not be adequate staff to train them, as potentially noted in one of those articles I linked (I think, unless it’s one of the other 13 I checked trying to find the right one, but these were the three I picked rather than adding all of ‘em)

It’s also completely true that the number of rangers and resources before didn’t make everything perfectly safe, and that there’s no realistic way to make everything perfectly safe, because people are still going to be dipshits

This is why I noted they were previously still overwhelmingly underfunded and under staffed, because while it will never be perfectly safe, more money and more resources would make things safer

You can’t station a ranger every square km to keep people away from the bison, but you could put up motion sensitive cameras along the roads and trails to note when people are potentially exhibiting dipshit behaviour, and maintain those along with maintaining roads and trails

I’ll happily admit, I kept my previous post simple, and probably shoulda pasted my references in in the first place… but the point was not to provide perfect academic study that people would definitely read through and analyze, but to get their attention, and hopefully make them reconsider vacation plans to areas that are very unlikely to be able to maintain even their existing campsites this summer

And, hopefully, to make them take the dangers more seriously by putting a human number on how many people require a service that just got a massive budget and personnel cut

I could have limited it to the average deaths, but the actual reason I didn’t is that my point is about not having the resources to effectively run search and rescue, so which is more relevant?

(But yeah, 900 confirmed deaths in the Grand Canyon coulda been its own paragraph - along with the fact that there are almost certainly more, because again, these are the recovered dead, not total numbers of missing assumed dead, and no one’s dredging on an annual basis checking for bodies)

I could include that yeah, you’re probably still relatively safe on a green route, so long as you’re taking regular hiking precautions… but people who regularly hike know that

They’re not the target audience - people who won’t remember to wear sensible shoes, bring water and a first aid kit, check the weather, etc. are, because they’re the ones who need to be reminded that hiking is always dangerous in general

Because even when the trails are being well maintained, maps are supplied at the trail heads, visitors centres are open to give bathroom access and offer any supplies you forgot, and there are rangers stationed to provide aid, hiking is never a guaranteed safe activity

Even ONE of those things not being accessible increases that danger, and almost none of them are going to be accesibile this year

Hiking in or near a national park, within the radius that park rangers would usually be able to assist with search and rescue efforts, is going to be significantly more dangerous this year, and every single year after that until funding once more allows things like basic trail maintenance - which will cost more the longer it’s neglected, and become increasingly dangerous

So sure, I could provide a well rounded, well cited post detailing all the individual risks that will be higher, and included all kinds of statistics that reflect the situation before even a single one of these changes go into effect - because people as a whole are excellent at interpreting statistics accurately

But, since you also didn’t include your sources, I think we can all agree that that’s not necessarily what Tumblr is for.

If you will be dissuaded from a hiking vacation by one post telling you the worst case scenario, you’re probably already not doing research or experienced enough, or particularly committed to doing it in the first place

If you see a scary post and decide “well I’ll look into this more”, you’re already unlikely to pet a bison (note: do not pet the fucking bison. Fluffy does not mean friend.)

I’m not your mom, I’m not your teacher or being paid to explain all the risks in perfect detail, and I can’t make you do anything - and you also shouldn’t be fully taking as read anything you read in a tumblr post anyway, in general

But trying to dismiss the whole post as misinformation or “making it harder to talk about what’s really going on” because… you would have liked full statistical run downs? Because it’s not a news report? Because hiking is dangerous anyway?

I’m not sure what precisely you think is so bad about this post, since you seem to agree that hiking is dangerous even with the current safety measures in effect, and that those measures will be impacted by budget and personnel cuts, which will lead to increased dangers, and likely casualties

You claim you’re not looking to diminish the impact of the cuts… but if it’s still “perfectly safe” to hike the trails you would if they hadn’t happened, what impact do you think the cuts had?

National parks being defunded and losing full time staff means that everything you do in those parks now carries additional risks, even the most simple little day trip where you go to the visitor’s centre, take some photos, and leave - because the roads aren’t being cleared, the centre is closed, and if something does go wrong, instead of trained staff being present to help you, you might have some seasonal workers who cannot have received the same preparation and training they were offered in 2024

Hiking trails are already risky, and tackling a trail you don’t understand and are not prepared for is always dangerous

It is more dangerous when the safety measures used to mitigate those dangers are missing

You are much more likely to get hurt on a poorly or unmaintained trail, and any incident that occurs is more likely to be serious when there are less emergency personnel, and personnel are less trained

The Grand Canyon averages 12 deaths a year - in the previous conditions. Those conditions will not be applied this year. The average death rate is not likely to decrease, or remain stable, given the new conditions

But humans are bad at nebulous concepts of danger, so yeah, I’m going to point out the entirely possible worst case scenario that people very rarely consider: you could die

People already die in national parks. More people are more likely to die when safety precautions and emergency services are cut.

People in need of search and rescue are more likely to die when search and rescue cannot be performed, or cannot be performed as well.

None of that is misinformation or fear mongering, and it does need to be considered when discussing these cuts, especially because it makes people uncomfortable.

Even if only 10 more people die total, those are 10 people with lives and families, whose deaths were preventable. And that is in one park.

Any number of dead people who might otherwise not have died should be unacceptably high - even if it’s already a dangerous activity. That’s why we have laws about seatbelts.

(Bad things that are not death could also happen, but people do not tend to stop and think twice at reminders like “you could break an ankle”)

Frankly, if more people remembered that going into any wild area, we would see a significant reduction in the number of dipshit incidents and accidents already, so I’m not going to not talk about it because you think that mentioning the significantly increased possibility is fear-mongering

By the way guys, in all seriousness? Do not hike in the US this year

Unless you are completely, 10000% sure there are no possible circumstances under which you’d need a ranger’s help to get you out, do not go on a trail

(If you are this sure there are no circumstances under which you’ll need help you either do not understand hiking well enough to go, or you’re comfortable with the idea of crawling out on two broken legs. Gravity sucks, anyone can fall)

3 rangers for the entirety of Yellowstone means that if something goes wrong you are literally on your own

People already go missing in national parks every year, because the park rangers were already wickedly under staffed and under funded

Between 2018 and 2020, there were 371 search and rescue incidents in Yellowstone. In the same period, Yosemite reported 732. The Grand Canyon had 785, in the same 2 years, and over 900 confirmed deaths overall - and that’s the bodies that were found

Most of these search and rescue incidents end well… because of the tireless expert work of park rangers who will not be there this year

People are going to die on family vacations, provided they can get into the parks at all - cuz they’re not going to have the staff to handle parking

Let alone trail maintenance after every storm, trash removal, camp and fence repairs…

Nature is beautiful and wild and free and fucking dangerous and it is exactly as easy to die of exposure now as it always has been

Fuck, people are going to die running at the bison to take a selfie with them, because no one will be around to tell them not to

And if you’re in an area that counted on tourism to a national park for revenue… I genuinely have no idea what’s going to happen, but it’s not going to be good

May “liberal tears” be a great comfort to every family that loses a loved one because they wanted one cool vacation pic

[thewinterdrafts]

Flesh and Metal | The White Wolf

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (1st Person)

Word Count: 6,062

Summary: Bucky Barnes is everything you ever wanted—soft, thoughtful, devoted. He loves you with a quiet intensity that should make you feel like the luckiest person alive. But after so many months of being together, he still hasn’t touched you. Not like that. When you finally confront him, you realize the truth is so much deeper. He does want you. He just doesn’t know how to ask. And tonight, for the first time—he’s finally ready to give in.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, Sub!Bucky (lots of begging you guys), Angst, Swearing, Dominance & submission dynamics, Self-doubt & insecurity, Trauma responses & PTSD, Fear of abandonment & rejection, BDSM themes (light control, praise, permission-based dynamics), Overstimulation & begging, Implied past abuse

A/N: hey guys! this is my first ever story here, and i've worked so hard on it, my brain might dissolve through my ears tonight. i hope you'll like it, happy reading 🤍

📍Masterlist

It has been four months. Four months and one day, to be exact, since Bucky Barnes became mine. I’ve never heard so many people congratulate me and warn me in the same breath, but I never cared. Not when he’s been so precious, so thoughtful, so achingly romantic. Not when he’s spent every single day making me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

I love him more than life itself. And with him—life and death feel closer than they should.

So why does it feel like I’m still not enough?

Four months, and he hasn't touched me. Not once. Not like that. 

Every time I try, every time I lean in, every time I press just a little too close, he pulls away. Sometimes subtly, sometimes not. Sometimes it’s a hesitant step back, sometimes it’s a firm grip on my wrist, pushing me away just enough to make it clear.

I tried everything. Cute lingerie. Whispered invitations. I even got my hair done for our anniversary last night. Nothing helped, I couldn't shake his composed demeanor, no matter what I did.

Maybe, he doesn’t want me at all. Why would he?

The Bucky Barnes could have anyone. Someone like Natasha—gorgeous, cool, effortlessly magnetic. The kind of woman who could hold her own against a super soldier, the kind who wouldn’t hesitate. The kind who makes sense with him.

Me on the other hand? What was I thinking, believing I would be enough? Just a simple girl, coming from a boring family, with no interesting backstory, nothing to show, nothing to–

"Baby?" Bucky put his face an inch from mine, which immediately snapped me out of my spiralling thoughts. "You okay? Is your stomach upset?" He pointed to the remaining of mac and cheese he cooked. 

He grew to be extremely good at reading my expressions over the past few months. He usually doesn't need to ask; he just knows what's wrong, and eliminates the problem without a word. This time, though, he didn't know. How could he?

"No," I say flatly.

"Sure? Because–"

"I am fine," I snap, louder than anticipated. 

I immediately regret my tone when I see Bucky stiffen, the sound of his metal arm clenching into an unbreakable fist. He takes exactly three steps back from me; measured and calculated. His eyes terrified; I can almost see how he is searching for the possible threats or punishments he would receive, now that he senses the change in the mood. He's still as a sculpture, except for the arms; they are shaking from how strongly he is sqeezing his fist.

Oh, I fucked up.

"I'm sorry. It's just been a really hard week on me, I-"

"You're hurt." 

It's not a question, it's a fact.

"I'm not hurt–"

"I hurt you."

It's not a fact, it's a crime. At least that's how he says it.

I look down to the tiled floor where I can still spot the signs of Bucky's cooking. I cannot look at him. I would need to lie to his face and that is one thing I was never able to do. Not after what he's been through. 

I notice a small movement from him as he takes another step; farther. Way farther away from me. I take a deep breath and force myself to look at him, wishing I didn't as the sight instantly breaks my heart; his eyes are filled with tears, and he's so confused. Scared. Terrified of what is coming. He's gripping onto the side of his shirt, like he always does when he feels unsafe. A lump forms in my throat as I try to open my mouth to speak. I've ruined him. 

"I– uh." The sound I made was barely a whisper, but it made him visibly flinch. "Do you... Do you not... want me?"

Bucky's terrified gaze turns into utter confusion in a matter of seconds. He blinks – for the first time in maybe minutes – as he's struggling to understand my question. I collect all my leftover courage and hope to keep talking. 

"You push me away," I say, trying to be as soft as possible. "We've been together for months, but never... together."

I feel so stupid for not being able to just straight out say it. I'm hoping he somehow understands what I mean, but judging by his scrunched eyebrows, I'm gonna have to be more specific.

 I let out a big sigh and close my eyes to make the embarrassment less painful. "Bucky, we never had sex." 

As soon as the words leave my mouth, his face drops. I lose him again somewhere very far away from me, and he keeps looking at me like I am about to destroy him completely. 

"If you don't want me, that's okay," I assure him, ignoring the bitter taste in my mouth. "I know I'm not the prettiest girl, and you've probably seen better—"

"No!" he snaps, so I lift my head up. He looks horrified, like I've just said something unspeakable. I wait for him to continue, but instead, he keeps staring at me, as if his eyes could tell everything he is unable to.

"No?" I echo. "Then why do you run every time I try to touch you like that?"

He breaks the eye contact by strictly looking at the kitchen counter right in front of him; or at anything that is not me. From all the months I've spent in his presence, I recognize this look too well. He's ashamed. 

"Bucky..."

Silence. He grips the fabric of his shirt, twisting it in his hands. A nervous tick, but to him, a grounding mechanism. He's really trying not to lose himself.

"I—, I don't—," he stutters. "I don't know how."

"What?" I blink. “Bucky, you’ve—” I hesitate. “You’ve been with other women before.”

His head jerks up with a flicker of panic and frustration.

 “That’s not—that’s different.”

“Different how?”

Bucky is refusing to look at me, so I stand up from my seat to make way towards him. He takes a sharp breath when I'm within his reach, but doesn't move. That's a good sign. 

"Look at me, baby," I ask, softly. His eyes snap up instantly, and I see it all there. The fear, the desperation, the battlefield in his head. "Tell me what's wrong."

He tries to do so; he opens his mouth, swallows, exhales, shakes his head, tries again, but he fails, no matter how hard he tries.

"Do you want me?" I ask bluntly.

He nods, still staring at the marble countertop. Okay.

"Are you scared to ask for what you want?"

Another nod. 

"Do you trust me?"

This one is instant.

"Yes."

"Then tell me."

He lets out a shaky breath before he swallows. He turns his head to me, face flustered, his chest moving up and down as he tries to regulate himself.

"Please, can you—," his voice dies before he can finish. He clearly is struggling, like he doesn't know how to want things and the fact breaks a small part of my heart permanently.

"Go on, Bucky. What do you need?" I encourage him.

"I—," he stutters, and then shakes his head hard, like the words are physically hurting him inside his head.

 His body, however, tells the truth on behalf of him. The way his hands tremble and his chest heaves with each exhale, the way his metal fingers twitch against his thigh—he is fighting himself.

I let the silence stretch, waiting, watching the way his face twists with frustration, with hesitation. With want.

“Baby,” I say softly.

His eyes cracks open, blue burning with something raw, something pleading. He sucks in a breath, and for a moment, I think he finally gives in, but then he shakes his head again, hard, turning his face away.

I click my tongue, grabbing his chin, forcing him to meet my gaze. “You want something. I can see it. I can feel it.”

His chest rises sharply, lips parting, but still, he doesn't speak. I lean in, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. 

“Do you need me to guide you?”

His entire body jerks, a sharp inhale ripping from his throat. His fingers are clenching into fists, the tremor rolling through his shoulders like a quake. But he still doesn't answer me.

My grip tightens slightly, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Bucky, if you don’t tell me what you need, I can’t give it to you.”

He exhales shakily, a frustrated, broken sound. His brows knit together, his hands lifting before falling back to his thighs, his whole frame trembling.

“Please,” he whispers.

My heart clenches. “Yes?”

His head dropped forward, breath ragged. “Please… please tell me what to do.”

Oh. 

Oh, fuck.

I smile, slow and knowing, letting the moment stretch, letting him feel the weight of what he's just asked for.

“I’ll show you.” I say, and I find my voice firm. Commanding.

His breath stutters, his entire body tensing, every muscle coiled tight with restraint, with hesitation. He’s fighting it, clinging to the instinct to resist—until I lean in, my mouth brushing over the shell of his ear.

 “If you'll be a good boy for me.”

The sound he makes—soft, broken, fucking relieved—rips through me like a shockwave. My core tightens, ignites, burns, a volcano threatening to erupt at the sheer power of it. 

Bucky Barnes is submissive. For me.��

"Follow me," I say, and as if I freed him from an invisible curse, he makes his way after me.

All at once, every doubt I ever had—about myself, about us—disintegrates. How did I not see this before? How could I have been so blind? He doesn’t need distance. He doesn’t need time. He just needs me. Me in control. Me guiding him. Me telling him exactly what to do.

And fuck, if that isn’t the most intoxicating realization of all, I don't know what is.

I may not be the most experienced woman alive, but that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that he needs me to be present. He needs me to take this. Own this. There’s no room for doubt, no room to shy away, when he trusts me to take care of him.

I release him just to check his expression, searching for even the slightest hint of hesitation, but to my surprise, I find none. Not a single trace. His eyes track my every movement, locked onto me like a soldier awaiting an order.

And it shouldn't turn me on the way it does.

"Do you want me right now?" My voice is steady, even as I close the space between us, just by one step. 

His gaze sweeps over me, dragging from my lips, to my throat, to my body before he gives a sharp, assured nod.

 "Then take off my dress." 

He moves instantly, without hesitation—like he’s been waiting for this since the moment he met me. His fingers find the hem of my dress; his touch cautious, reverent, like he’s afraid I might pull away at any second. Like he can’t quite believe this is happening.

The contrast of his warm, flesh hand on one thigh, and his ice-cold vibranium fingers on the other, sends a shiver tearing down my spine. Slowly, deliberately, he lifts the fabric over my head, the brush of his knuckles against my skin leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Once I’m bare before him, he takes a small step back—just to look. His lips part slightly, his breathing uneven, chest rising and falling faster, deeper. His eyes—piercing, devastating—roam every inch of me, burning me from the inside out.

And then, he moves.

He throws the dress across the room without looking, never once taking his eyes off of me. His entire body is vibrating, like he’s barely holding himself together, barely restraining the need thrumming beneath his skin.

The sight of him is stealing every breath I have left.

“Can I take your shirt off?” I break the silence, my own voice softer now.

“Please,” he begs.

I waste no time. I step in, close enough for his ragged breath to ghost over my skin, and strip him bare. It’s a summer night, so he’s only wearing a thin, black V-neck, already clinging to the sweat on his chest–or at least, he was. With one fluid motion, I pull it over his head and let it drop to the floor.

I take a moment, just a few seconds, to admire him.

His body is all strength, broad shoulders and sculpted muscle carved by battle and time. Scars litter his skin, testaments to wars fought and survived, and yet, under the soft glow of the moonlight, he looks like something untouchable. Ethereal. Unreal.

I swallow hard, licking my lips as my gaze travels downward, over his defined abs, the way they tense under my attention, down to the dark trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his boxers. I feel it then—the heat pooling low, the unbearable pulse between my thighs. And he’s just standing there, watching me, eyes so dark they’re nearly black.

I’m already so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing.

"Undress me," I whisper. 

His breath catches, eyes flash with hunger, the way they always do when he wants but won’t take. But this time, he moves.

With careful fingers, he reaches behind me for the clasp of my bra, hesitant yet desperate. This is as far as we’ve ever gone. Four months of waiting, of skirting the edge, of Bucky refusing to let himself see me without clothes. Back then, I thought it was because he didn’t want me, because I wasn’t enough.

But now? Now I know the truth. He wouldn’t have known what to do. He was afraid to ruin this. Afraid to ruin me.

I snap out of my thoughts as I feel the cold air of the AC dance on my bare torso. My nipples instantly harden as a result, and Bucky notices it just as quickly. His lips are apart, and he's staring at them like an animal on his prey. The way he wants me fills me with every ounce of confidence I’ve ever needed.

"You can touch them," I whisper, not sure he even heard me, but then he takes two steps towards, putting his flesh hand on my waist.

I gasp, the breath catching in my throat as his warm, steady touch trails up my skin. His movements are slow—painfully, torturously slow—like he’s memorizing me with his hands, drinking me in through touch alone. He reaches my left breast and he cups it, his thumb immediately finding my hard nipple. His breath shudders, sharp and heavy, his chest rising with a strained inhale as he circles my achingly hard peak with his thumb, teasing, testing, learning me.

I struggle to hold in my moan, my teeth sinking into my lip as he pinches it, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight between my legs. And fuck, he’s watching. His vibranium arm remains stiff at his side, fingers curled into a tight, trembling fist, his jaw slightly slack, his lips parted as he watches himself touch me.

He’s fascinated. Hypnotized. Like this is the first time he’s ever allowed himself to truly want something.

"Both hands, please." My voice is barely a whisper, barely a sound, just a needy, broken plea. His head snaps up, and for the first time in what feels like forever, his eyes meet mine.

His metal hand, still clenched in restraint, relaxes. With slow, careful hesitation, he brings it up, inch by inch, his fingertips skimming my ribs before finally—finally—he touches me. A shiver rips through me, my body instinctively arching into the icy contrast of metal against my heated skin. I don’t pull away; if anything, I lean into him, chasing the sensation, craving more.

"You're being so good for me," I praise, my voice low.

Bucky fucking breaks.

His entire body stutters, trembles; his breath hitching, his knees nearly buckling beneath him as a wrecked, desperate whimper falls from his lips.

Fuck. That has to be the sexiest sound in the world.

“Can I—” His voice cracks, his fingers flexing against my skin. “Can I please kiss you?”

He is pleading, over and over, his voice shaky, utterly undone.

“Please, I need it. Please.”

His words shoot straight to my core, the need in his voice a direct pulse between my legs. I want him so much, I might sublime from the heat he ignites inside me.

I don’t hesitate. I grab his arm, pulling him against me, forcing his bare chest to crash into mine. He melts against me, his body burning, muscles taut, already trembling with restraint. And then, I kiss him. Or maybe he kisses me. Either way, the moment our lips meet, Bucky loses himself.

He kisses me like he’s starving, like he’s drowning and I’m his only air. His mouth is hungry, relentless, desperate, lips crashing into mine as he’s trying to devour me whole.

And fuck, his hands.

They roam everywhere, one gripping the small of my back, the other skimming just beneath my panties, teasing, taunting me, and just when I think it couldn't get any better, his metal hand clamps around my ass, gripping tight, keeping me steady. Feeling the cool vibranium pressing into my heated skin, I moan straight into his mouth, my body shuddering in his hold.

“Put me on the bed. Now.”

The words leave me in a command, and Bucky moves before I can even take another breath. With one arm, just one, he lifts me with ease, like I weigh nothing to him. He lays me down, gentle but firm, already moving to cover me with his body—but I stop him.

“Not yet.”

I shake my head, and he immediately halts, his breathing labored, controlled. He looks wrecked, like he's using every bit of self control to keep himself away from me. Still kneeling between my legs, still so fucking obedient, and yet—his eyes. His fucking eyes, they’re eating me alive.

“Take it off,” I order, nodding toward his jeans.

Bucky keeps his eyes locked on mine, hands trailing down, slow and deliberate as he reaches for the button of his jeans. With a quick flick of his fingers, they’re undone. His piercing gaze never leaves me, his eyes dragging over every inch of my body, devouring, worshipping.

I don't have much time before he stands up and slowly pushes his jeans down. I gasp when I see the thin, black material of his boxers that do nothing to hide him. The thick, heavy outline of him, pressing against the fabric, takes my breath away.

I’ve never seen him like this before. Not even close. I’ve felt him—hard, pressing against me on nights where he’d let himself have just a little. But then he would stop and shut it down. I couldn't understand why, not until now, and I don't have one second to think about it, because he pushes his boxers down. His cock is finally bared to me in full, and Jesus fucking Christ.

He is huge. How is that gonna fit?

“Please,” I hear a small plea towards him, and I shot my eyes back to his face. 

His breath is wild, erratic, chest heaving like he can’t get enough air, like he’s on the edge of breaking. His flesh hand is poised, ready to touch himself, to relieve even an ounce of the pressure, but he doesn't. Not without my word. I bite my lip, reveling in the power of it, in the way his entire body trembles under restraint.

“Take this off, too,” I instruct, gesturing to the lace panties that I’d bought months ago—back when I thought he’d see them then.  Back when I thought we’d be here so much sooner. 

But I don’t have a single complaint left in my body, because when Bucky finally moves—he rips them off. The thin fabric tears from me in one sharp pull, and for a split second, I wonder if he just ripped them in half.

His eyes drag over me, drinking in every inch of bare skin, mapping the places he’s never let himself truly look at before. I feel just how wet I am, now that there’s nothing to soak up the slick. I can feel it all pooling between my thighs, proof of just how badly I want him.

A flicker of  shyness grips me—how did I get this lucky? How did I end up with him, undone and starving, in front of me? But I don’t let myself hide; instead, I sit up slowly, deliberately, my movements calculated, letting myself kneel on the soft mattress.

I look up at him, like I could devour him with a single breath. The six-foot-tall ex-assassin is towering over me, radiating pure heat, his entire body coiled tight like a predator barely holding back.

And then, soft as a prayer, I say, “I want you.”

As if I’ve broken a curse, Bucky snaps. His fingers clamp around my throat, his mouth slamming into mine, the sheer force of it knocking me back onto the bed. He pins me down, all of his weight pressing into me, heavy, suffocating, absolutely fucking perfect. The way he kisses me makes me crazy; he's hungry, possessive, and so filthy, I can only moan as a response.

His cock, thick and heavy, sliding between my soaking slit, his length gliding right over my clit with each slow, torturous grind.

“Fuck—” I moan straight into his mouth, my hips instinctively tilting up, chasing every ounce of friction he gives me.

I lose every bit of control I had left. Overcome with greed, I grab at him, pull at him, take as much as I can. My fingers tangle in his long hair, keeping him locked to me, refusing to let him break the kiss for even a second. 

I let my other hand wander; I trace the sharp lines of his back, trailing lower, until my palm finds his ass. I squeeze, hard, forcing him to rock against me even harder, dragging his cock rougher, deeper through my slick folds. My breathing is a wreck, my body moving instinctively, clinging to him, needing more, more, more.

I want him. All over me. Inside me. Taking me apart.

“Can I—” His voice shatters, breathless. He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes wrecked with need.

“Can I please put it in?”

And fuck, he looks at me like a puppy, wide-eyed, begging.

“Please, I’ll make you feel so good,” he purrs against my neck, teeth grazing my skin, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses.

“God, yes,” I groan.

Bucky grabs himself, his fingers shaking with need as he positions his cock right at my entrance. He could thrust in immediately, take what we both want without hesitation, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pauses; his eyes flick back up to mine, searching, waiting, needing something more.

And I know exactly what he wants.

“Be a good boy and fuck me, Bucky.”

I'm way past hesitation or shame. All I want is him taking over me, claiming me, pressing me into himself. The words shatter something inside him; his mouth parts, his pupils blown wide, and then—without ever breaking eye contact—he slides inside.

A broken moan leaves my lips as my spine arches, my body opening for him, stretching around him, and fuck, he fills me.

Completely. Entirely. Devastatingly.

I’ve been aching for this moment for months. I’ve fantasized about him taking me, and now he’s finally inside me. A deep pressure builds low in my belly, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as he pushes deeper and deeper, until I feel the blunt tip of his cock press against my cervix.

He’s so fucking hard. I can feel him throbbing inside me, feel the pulse of his cock against my walls, and it drives me insane. I wait for him to finally move, but after a few seconds of stillness, I open my eyes.

Bucky is watching me so carefully, his eyes flicking over my face, searching for even the slightest sign of discomfort. His arms shake violently, his knuckles white from gripping the sheets beside my head. He’s breathing fast, erratic, his small, shaky breaths cold against my ear. And he’s moving too slowly, like he’s terrified of losing control.

“Relax, baby. You can let go.”

I lift my hand, gently stroking his beautiful face, my voice barely a whisper. His eyes soften, then immediately darken.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasps, his voice hoarse, ruined.

“You can’t,” I assure him. “I can take it. I want to take it.”

The sound that escapes him—a helpless whimper, like he’s been waiting his entire life to hear those words. His body trembles, his control hanging by a thread, his cock twitching inside me at the sheer relief of it.

He might be above me, but he is completely at my mercy.

“You’re doing so good,” I murmur, just inches from his lips, my breath fanning over his skin. “Don’t stop.”

The second I say it, he melts.

Raw, desperate need unleashes from him so suddenly, it knocks the breath from my lungs. I wheeze in surprise, barely able to keep up before he grabs the bedframe above my head with his vibranium arm and picks up the pace—hard. The deep, wrecked moan that rips from his throat sets me on fire; a wildfire raging low and uncontrollable, consuming every last of my coherent thoughts. All I know is him—the way he moves, the way he fills me, the way every precise thrust hits where I need him most.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, and he collapses into me, his mouth claiming mine in a sloppy, desperate kiss. His thrusts are relentless, shaking the entire goddamn bed, and I have to grip his vibranium arm for dear life just to keep myself in place.

Somewhere in his haze, even now, he thinks to protect me—his flesh hand cradling the top of my head, shielding me from the bedframe. My chest tightens at the gesture, and I let my lips trail down his sweat-slicked neck in silent gratitude, my teeth grazing over his skin.

Something inside me snaps as I feel his salty skin on my tounge. My nails rake down his back, digging into the hard muscle, desperate to leave my mark. My teeth sink into his shoulder, biting, scratching, taking him. We’re sliding against each other, slick with sweat, the heat of the summer night making everything feel even filthier, more raw, more real.

And Bucky is falling apart.

He’s moaning, breaking, unraveling against me, the sounds deep and ragged, each one rougher than the last. If I didn’t know better—if I didn’t know how utterly overwhelmed with pleasure he is—I’d think he was in pure agony from the helpless little cries slipping from his lips.

“Tell me I’m good for you,” he whispers, almost afraid to ask, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

“You’re such a good boy for me, Bucky.” 

The words fall from my lips like a promise, and fuck, the sharp, broken gasp he lets out shreds me to pieces. It’s high and desperate, so fucking needy, and it goes straight to my core.

He kisses me, hard and possessive.

“I’ve been waiting…” His voice is unraveling, barely understandable.

”… for so fucking long.”

Then suddenly—

Thrust.

“And you—”

Thrust.

“Feel—”

Thrust.

“So—”

Thrust.

“Good.”

His voice rasps in pure, guttural pleasure. I’m nothing but a puddle beneath him, completely ruined, and somehow, he’s not finished.

His rhythm snaps, his thrusts turning harder, rougher, deeper, more possessive.

“Mine,” he snarls, his voice low, primal. He slams into me, hard, forcing me to take it.

“Mine, you understand?”

I can’t speak. Can’t think. There’s no rational thought left, no words, just pure, consuming pleasure. So instead, I match his pace, my hips rolling up to meet every devastating thrust. The way his words set me on fire, I let the flames consume me. My orgasm builds dangerously fast, and I’m hanging by a fucking thread, barely holding on under the brutal precision of his movements.

“Bucky—God—”

His name falls from my lips like a prayer, breathless and desperate.

“I’m—”

Judging by his increased pace, he knows exactly what I'm trying to say. He lifts himself, just enough to look me in the eyes, and I’m trying so hard not to let my eyes roll back, not to completely lose myself in him.

“Please.”

His voice shatters, breaking apart in my ear, pleading.

“Please cum on my cock. Please, baby, please—”

This is all I need to spiral. The coil inside me snaps violently, my entire body arching, shattering as a scream tears from my throat. I crash into pleasure, drowning in it, my walls clenching tight around him, milking him, pulling him deeper.

“Oh, fuck—” Bucky’s voice breaks, his hips stuttering, his rhythm completely unraveling as he feels me fall apart around him.

“That’s it—fuck—that’s my girl.”

His praise sends a violent aftershock through me, my body trembling, shaking, completely spent. I gasp for air, trying to regulate myself after the most devastating orgasm of my life, but I don't stand a chance. Bucky's not finished, not yet.

“I—I can’t—”

Bucky’s voice isn’t even human anymore. It’s a shattered, breathless little whimper, choked between desperate gasps, his body trembling like he’s about to break. His hips falter, his cock twitching so agressively inside me I swear I can feel it in my throat.

But he won’t let go. Not yet.

Not without permission.

“Please—”

The word falls apart in his throat, barely even understandable.

“Please, baby, please—please let me cum, I need it, I need you, I can’t hold it, I can’t—”

He’s whining, his breath is gone, his voice is gone, his body is gone; he is completely, utterly mine.

“Release it, baby.” My fingers tighten in his hair, dragging him deeper inside me. “Be a good boy and give it to me.”

And that’s it; he doesn’t just fall apart—he disintegrates.

His hips slam forward, burying himself so fucking deep inside me, holding us together, his muscles locking up, convulsing. And if this wasn't enough, he whimpers.

“Ohhh—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His cock twitches and throbs uncontrollably, and I feel everything. The first violent, overwhelming pulse. The hot, thick flood of him spilling deep inside me. His hips keep jerking, his muscles keep locking up, his whimpers keep breaking apart into desperate, breathless sobs.

“Baby, baby—please, please, oh my God, I—I can’t—”

His hands claw at my waist, face burrowed into my neck, his breath a gasping mess. His voice cracks, completely breaking apart, and then a single, desperate sob escapes from him.

He cries. Bucky Barnes cries when he cums.

His body shakes uncontrollably, his hips rocking forward on their own, like he’s trying to push it even deeper, like he’s chasing something he’ll never be able to reach.

“Baby, baby—please hold me, please—fuck, I love you, I love you so much—”

His voice is cracking, completely gone, and I gasp as I feel another orgasm building inside me. Another slow, rolling wave, ignited by his moans, his desperate little whimpers, the way he’s still trembling inside me.

“Bucky—oh, fuck—”

The second he realizes what’s happening, it destroys him all over again.

“Baby, you’re gonna— Fuck, fuck, fuck—please, baby, please—”

His hips snap forward as a last burst of desperate energy, his hands gripping my waist so tightly I feel the bruises forming.

“Oh, baby—please, please cum on my cock again, I wanna feel it—please, baby, please, please—”

The filth of it, the raw need in his voice immedately shatters me. I scream his name, my body convulsing around him, my walls tightening, pulsing, taking him deeper, squeezing him so hard he sobs.

“Oh—oh fuck, baby, I’m still cumming—”

His cock throbs again, another weak, helpless little spill, and he whimpers so high and wrecked he sounds like he’s dying.

“I can’t stop—baby, I can’t stop, I can’t stop—”

His breath is gone, tears spilling onto my skin, his voice a trembling, begging mess, pleading for the final release. Not a moment later, he collapses.

His body slumps into mine; arms useless, his breathing erratic and broken. His tears still fall, his entire body shivering, overstimulated, still whimpering, still sobbing.

He’s still inside me, throbbing. Utterly gone from this world.

His hands stay locked firmly around me, fingers clutching, shaking, gripping, like he’ll die if I let go. And on top of that, he just won't stop crying. Soft, helpless little sobs hide into my skin, as he's holding onto me for dear life.

“Baby,” he whispers, his voice so broken and small.

“Baby, please don’t let go—please don’t go.”

My heart shatters to a million pieces in a matter of seconds. It becomes evidently clear that he's not here right now. He’s somewhere else, somewhere dark, somewhere cold, somewhere where he had nothing and no one. I feel it in the way he clings to me and his hands shake as they grip my waist. The way his face tucks into my throat, burrowing, searching, nuzzling like he’s trying to disappear into me; like he’s afraid this isn’t real.

"Shhh, Bucky,” I murmur, kissing his damp temple. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Even though I wanted my words to soothe him, he breaks even more instead. His breath catches on a sob, his entire body curling into me, fingers fisting in the sheets, in my hair, in anything he can hold onto. 

“You’re so good to me,” he gasps, his voice shaking. “So perfect, so soft, I—fuck, I don’t deserve this—”

His lips quiver against my skin, hands tightening around me, pulling me closer. The realization that he’s not just crying from overstimulation, hits me like a brick. He’s crying because he’s never felt this before.

Never felt this safe. Never felt this loved. Never felt this cherished, taken care of. 

“Bucky,” I whisper, cupping his tear-streaked face, making him look at me.

His blue eyes are glassy and vulnerable, still wet with tears. God, he looks so much younger like this. Like a little boy, back in the ‘40s, nineteen years old, held too many responsibilities, never got held in return.

I immediately want to fix every bad thing that's ever happened to him.

“You deserve all of this, my sweet boy,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his forehead. “You deserve every single second of love. You deserve to be taken care of.”

He lets out a tiny little sob that slits my heart in half, like a butcher knife.

“But I—” His voice cracks, his fingers digging into my waist. “I don’t—I don’t know how to do this. I don’t—”

His breath hitches, his chest rising, falling too fast. I know him enough to realize he’s panicking, his brain is fighting him, pushing against the comfort, trying to tell him he doesn’t deserve this.

I also know how to shut it down. I pull him into me, wrap my arms so tightly around him that he has no choice but to believe that this is real. I'm real.

“It’s okay, baby,” I say gently, stroking his hair, feeling his body relax against mine. “You don’t have to know how. Just let me love you.”

He immediately eases into me, his breath slowing, his shaking finally dying down. He doesn't know, but he's holding my own broken pieces together too, since I've never felt a love so consuming before. 

“If I fall asleep,” he whispers, as if he is about to say something unthinkable, “will you be here when I wake up?”

My dear God. 

"Of course, Bucky. I'll be right here, always," I promise, my voice firm, not leaving any space for doubts in his broken mind.

He buries his face into my neck as an answer, and with that, Bucky Barnes is fast asleep in my arms.

[drdemonprince]

sorry if this is too long but i really appreciate your perspective and would love some advice

i have a mixed gender friend group irl, however i am the only transmasc in the group (the rest of the group is queer transfems, queer cis women, and our token cishet guy) and ive run into a little issue in that im quite close to one of the cis girls of the group, and we occasionally have deep chats about our queer identities (we're both aro, im ace, shes bi) . these chats are great and i really appreciate her as a friend but one thing shes always bringing up, even in unrealted conversations is how much she hates men .

im not a transandrobro so this isn't gonna be one of those "im one of the good ones" or "i feel guilty for being transmasc" asks dw. the issue came up when i was discussing how i was going to start T pretty soon (i pass decently well without it already but as more of a butch/androgynous type look) and as we were talking about the changes she was acting... genuinley scared and disgusted??

especially when i talked about how i will likely grow more body hair, and how T affects scent and stuff. she was almost horrified. "yeah but you dont want that right? youll shave it?" . i already dont shave my body hair (she does) and i cant help but feel scared that one of my closest friends is going to find me revolting once i start transitioning medically.

i didnt even mention bottom growth after that because i was so scared of what her reaction to that would be.

idk if you have any experience or advice for this? or any reading on the subject? ive found that its only the cis women in my friend group who are acting this way as well. i feel like maybe its because theyve secretly been viewing me as "just" a masculine woman this whole time. i id as nonbinary with the group, but secretly i really do think im a trans man, but based on the disgust with those things im reluctant to come out again.

Honestly this is a really common way that cis women microaggress against trans mascs! Those two identities have competing privilege/oppression intersections and a lot of really wild shit can play out as a result, as well as due to the projection that can happen because both groups have shared a social identity at some point (whether we liked it or not). It may not be fixable, but I think you need to set the tone that this kind of negative commentary on your transition and body is NOT acceptable, and to do so EARLY, so that you are establishing ground rules for how you will be treated.

Example conversation:

You: So I started getting some hair on my neck around my Adam's apple.

Her: Ewwwww, but you're going to shave it right?

You: (pause and look at her seriously). Gender transition is something I'm very excited about and that's very good for me, you know. I am happy about everything that's happening and I hope that as my friend you would be happy for me too.

Let's say that she continues to be somewhat shitty about your transition multiple times. Here is how you might escalate without totally blowing your lid.

Her: Wow, your [voice is so deep/your acne is getting so bad/your hair pattern is changing/whatever thing she is being shitty about].

You: (stop whatever task you're doing if any to give this full attention. lock eyes with her, maybe even sigh). I have told you multiple times not to comment on my appearance. It makes me very uncomfortable. I don't enjoy spending time with people who comment on how I look.

I think your focus should be not on correcting her feelings, which she needs to go like stare at a pond and reflect about on her own, but instead reign in her shitty commentary completely -- and if she won't do that for you, then you will need start ending conversations/walking away/not inviting her to things/whatever other boundary setting strategy you like. I would prioritize nipping the personal comments in the bud over the "men are so disgusting and evil" kind of commentary, because I think that matters more and seems to bother you more -- but if it were me? I would also be pissed that she wasn't including me in the category of "men" when she was talking about them, and would say things like "I'm a man too, you know." Or "Yeah, WE can be kind of annoying/boorish/smelly sometimes." This isn't some transandrobro NOT ALL MEN thing, it's an anti-transphobia don't misgender me thing. And perhaps by taking accountability for all that manhood is -- the good and the bad, the euphoric and the just neutral, you will influence her in a positive way to think about these things more neutrally. If not, well, that's her fuckin loss.

[dollyzdaydreamz]

Arthur Morgan x Reader fluff

Flowers for a Gunslinger

Description: You always figured love wasn't meant for you, that you weren't the kind of woman a man would bring flowers to. One day, Mickey, the homeless "ex-veteran" in Valentine who has a little crush one you, gifts you with a little flower. Upon seeing your reaction, Arthur decides to one up the poor bastard by gifting you a flower of his own. Warnings: a teensy bit of angst, gunslinger reader (was orphaned), age gap, unrequited love, but not really bc Arthur actually *does* love the reader (✿◡‿◡)

pls forgive any grammatical or spelling errors lol, wrote this at 3 AM

Valentine was as noisy and foul-smelling as ever. The scent of manure and whiskey blended in the streets, and the voices of townsfolk rose and fell like the hum of cicadas in the summer. You and Arthur had been riding in from camp, the two of you sent by Dutch to meet the others at the saloon. It was a routine trip, the kind that felt almost mundane compared to the chaos that life in the gang usually entailed.

Arthur rode beside you, as he often did, his hat pulled over his face to block out the midday sun. He didn’t talk much unless there was something worth saying, but his presence was always comfortable.

You had known Arthur all your life. Dutch and Hosea had raised you, much like they had him, taking you in as an orphan. After hearing about some robbery gone wrong, they decided to investigate the cottage for extra supplies. That’s when they had found you fussing in a cradle, looking like you’d gone days without eating.

You grew up amongst the outlaws, shooting, fighting, moving, and surviving, but you had never been a killer unless absolutely necessary. You preferred shooting a pistol out of a man’s hand and giving him a good verbal beating rather than blowing his brains out altogether, you left that to Arthur and John.

Love had never been something you spent much time thinking about. It wasn’t meant for people like you, people who knew how quickly things could be taken away. And besides, men never seemed all that impressive anyway. After years of being around them, you’d deduced that most were either crude, greedy, or plain dumb. 

But as the years passed, you began to notice how everyone seemed to have somebody. Dutch had Molly, John had Abigail, Karen and Sean had their drunken courtship, and even poor Kieran was head over heels for Mary-Beth. And then there was Arthur. Arthur had Mary, well at least he used to.

You’d always liked Mary. She was kind to you when you were a child, always greeting you with a warm smile when she visited camp. She was the sort of woman you could never be, graceful, belonging to the world that had no place for outlaws like you.

And yet, no matter how much you admired her, you're little self couldn’t help the quiet, simmering jealousy that settled deep in your chest every time Arthur brought her around. She had his heart, his attention. The same Arthur who used to draw you rabbits and flowers without complaint. The same Arthur who always had a piece of candy tucked away for you when he knew you were feeling down. The same Arthur you had once childishly and foolishly pictured marrying when you grew up.

But that was a long time ago.

Arthur Morgan wasn’t meant for someone like you. And love wasn’t meant for a gunslinger, so you pushed those feelings down, opting to be grateful to have him as a friend. 

 As the two of you neared the saloon, a familiar voice called out.

"Miss, Miss, wait a moment!"

Arthur slowed his horse, glancing over as Mickey, the homeless war veteran who often loitered around Valentine, came hurrying up with nervous energy. His ragged coat flapped as he limped toward you.

Your expression, which had been quiet and pensive, softened as you dismounted your horse and walked over to the man.

“If it ain’t Mister Mickey!” you hollered with a small chuckle, tilting your head. “What’s got you in such a rush?”

Mickey looked a little sheepish. "I, uh… I got you something."

“Well then,” you couldn’t help but grin, “show me, I want to see!”

Mickey fumbled with his satchel, his hand shaking slightly as he pulled out a small flower, its pink petals slightly crumpled but still intact. He held it out with a stiff posture, like it was something precious which made your heart melt.

You blinked in surprise, your mouth parting slightly. Yes it was just a flower, but the gesture was so sweet. You weren’t used to people giving you things. Not unless it was a gun, a saddle, or some tool for survival. Gifts, real, thoughtful ones, were a rare thing.

"I found it in a field!" he explained with childlike excitement. "Wanted to bring more, but the ranchers, well… they didn't take too kindly to me pokin’ ‘round their property"

You frowned, “they kicked you out over some flowers?”

Mickey shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “Guess they thought I was up to no good.” 

You reached out, gingerly taking the flower from his rough hand. Without hesitation, you tucked it into the brim of your hat, adjusting it so it wouldn’t fall out.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you, Mister” you nodded, and you meant it.

Mickey beamed, his shoulders straightening as if he’d just been given a medal of honor, 

“Well, do you like it Arthur?” Mickey asked hesitantly, as if asking for his approval as well, 

Arthur, standing a few feet back with his arms crossed, rolled his eyes playfully before coming forward to give him a pat on the back, 

“It sure is beautiful,” he drawled, before chuckling as Mickey smiled and waddled away aimlessly. He’d always liked that old fool. 

As the two of you made your way toward the saloon, Arthur couldn’t help but notice that the previous grimness in your face had faded into something gentler, something more open.

“Well, well,” he mused, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “didn’t know you had a thing for older men!”

Well, yes, I do. You thought for a split second.

You rolled your eyes as you felt your face heat up, “Shut up.”

“No, really!” He nudged your arm with his elbow, feigning innocence, “...Should I be expectin’ wedding bells anytime soon?”

“He’s just kind, that’s all. Something I reckon you should try out someday.” You scoffed, though there was no real bite to your words.

“Yeah, yeah” Arthur muttered. 

“Today was the first time I was gifted flowers by a man.” You chuckled after a beat of silence, just thinking out loud really, finding the situation a bit funny.

Arthur’s smirk faltered slightly. It was a small thing, just a flicker in his expression, but you caught it.

Sympathy, maybe. He knew you hadn’t had the same experiences as other young women. There was no courtship, no love letters, no dances in fancy dresses. Romance was a foreign concept in a life where survival came first. It made sense that something as small as a flower and a little crush made you feel nice, regardless of who it was from.

But there was also something else in Arthur’s chest, something unexpected. A small, irrational twinge of jealousy. He scolded himself internally, now you’ve reached a new level of pathetic you old fool, jealous of the town nutcase. But it was there all the same.

He scoffed, masking whatever he was feeling with humor. “Then what am I? Chopped liver?”

“Well, when’s the last time you risked getting shot to pick me a flower, Arthur?” You chuckled, as you walked up the ragged steps of the saloon, already hearing the faint piano and sounds of men drunkenly conversing. 

Arthur tutted, shaking his head. “Hell, I guess you’re right.”

“Mhm” you hummed pointedly, before your eyes met Dutch, Charles, and Javier waiting for you two at the bar. 

------------------------------------------------------

A few days later, Arthur’s found himself crouched in the tall grass as he muttered under his breath,

“This is…ridiculous.”

He’d spotted a flower tucked against the base of a tree, a shade of pink that stood out against the greenery. 

“A lot of effort you're putting into your little gift,” Hosea called out from behind him.

“Shut up,” Arthur groaned.

He wasn’t doin’ this for any particular reason, of course. Just happened to see it after him and Hosea had finished robbing some poor bastard, and-

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he grumbled as he finally shooed off the last grazing deer and plucked the damn thing out of it's mouth, shaking it off.

“You are a terrible liar, son.”

Arthur shot him a look, “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Pink,” Hosea observed as he stepped forward, examining the flower with a grin, “she’ll like that.”

Arthur grumbled something under his breath before mounting his horse, doing his best to ignore the warmth creeping up his neck.

He hated that Hosea could see right through him. Arthur knew he wasn’t the best at saying what he felt, so doing things was the easiest way to show it. Plus it made him feel…good about himself. It reminded him of this one ordeal many years ago. Arthur tutted at the memory, he was probably around 18? 19?

Arthur had been reluctant about drawing for you. Not because he didn’t want to, but because the second he did, you’d start asking for more. And seeing you frown? Well, he hated to admit it, but that damn near killed him.

One evening, you had tugged on his sleeve after camp had settled down.

“Arthur,” you asked, bright-eyed, “Can you draw me an elk? Hosea said he saw one the other day!”

He was exhausted. Dutch had been on him about somethin’, and he was already in a sour mood, just wanting to reach his cot and forget about the day as soon as possible. So, for the first time, he snapped,

“Just-draw it yourself.”

You faltered. Just for a second. But it was enough to make his gut twist.

Hosea, who had been watching nearby, frowned at him before following you as you scurried off.

Later that night, Arthur spotted you in Hosea’s tent, crouched over a piece of paper, brows furrowed in concentration. You were trying so hard, but eventually, you threw the pencil down, frustrated, before curling up and hiding your face under the covers. 

“You moron Morgan,” Arthur groaned as he rubbed his face, before bringing his journal out from his satchel and getting to work.

The next morning, you woke up to a neatly folded piece of paper by your head.

“Well, what do we have here?” you heard Hosea’s warm voice ask as he leaned down, unfolding it for you even though he already knew.

It was the most intricate and beautiful drawing of an elk you had ever seen.

You had gasped, grinned so wide your face hurt as you and Hosea pointed out little details in the sketch. Arthur didn’t say anything about it, but he saw that smile again. That was enough. 

Sure enough, a few days later, you had forgotten about the whole thing.

A faint smile adorned Arthurs face as he reminisced, before quickly clearing his throat and spurring his horse onward after he saw Hosea eyeing him.

------------------------------------------------------

You had just returned to camp, seeing Mary-beth’s face buried in a book before it lifted and met yous, 

“Evening” she greeted you with a suspiciously playful glint in her eye. 

“Hi Mary-beth” you chuckled hesitantly, “what’s with that look?”

“Nothin’” she shrugged looking back down at her book as the corners of her lips twitched up, “just couldn’t help but notice the gift Mister Morgan left ya”

“Gift?” 

“Go and see for yourself,” she said. 

You scoffed a little at her sudden mysterious demeanor, before you spotted something sitting on the small table near your tent. A small, glass-encased flower. Not just any flower, a soft pink, delicate and rare.

You furrowed your brows, stepping closer. There was a small note beside it.

"Didn’t get shot at, but I did have to fight off a feisty deer."

-Arthur

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as warmth bloomed in your chest.

“Oh, how romantic,” a voice from behind you drawled, “a blossoming love between two gunslingers” Mary-beth sighed, book clutched to her chest with a dreamy look in her eyes. 

You rolled your eyes, “You gotta stop readin’ all those god-awful romance novels” you muttered, although you had to turn away to hide the heat radiating from your cheeks.

“Alright, fine I’m just teasin’ ya…” 

You scoffed, as she looked back at you pointedly while walking back to her tent, before your lifted the glass carefully, admiring the flower inside. 

It was beautiful, untouched by the roughness of the world. You ran a finger over the edge of the case, 

Arthur Morgan.

That fool.

You took the flower and carefully placed it on your table, somewhere safe.

Arthur leaned against a tree near camp, watching from afar as you carefully positioned the flower on your desk, adjusting it just right before admiring it.

He felt something stir in his chest at that rare smile.

He should’ve just let the moment pass. Should’ve walked off, but he let himself savor this moment for just a moment longer.

dividers by @fairytopea and @kodaswrld

images found on Pinterest but collaged by me:)

[yoongihan]

I keep trying to figure out what I want to say about this series, why I go back to reread it (sometimes just parts, sometimes the whole thing). It's probably a bit odd to say that this is a comfort fic in the sense that it's primarily about sex and intimacy and a polyamorous relationship and that's not usually what I'd list as comfort fic traits for myself.

There's this growing aspect of young(ish) readers, the newer generation one may say, especially here on tumblr/ao3 for fanfic. I once got an ask that was offended I hadn't put y/n was taller than changbin in the 'warnings' (it's really not that hard to be taller than that man, mmmkay?) and that this person couldn't enjoy my story because it was for the 'tall girls'. Because it didn't exactly meet this person's physical traits, the fic wasn't interesting to this reader.

Now, I love the inclusivity of y/n, how people write her (or they depending) in such a way as to include all races, body types, etc. I think that's such a cool thing about where fanfic is.

However, personally, I don't really see myself in most if not all y/ns, for a variety of reasons, some are more shallow/surface-level; some are personality (thank goodness when y/n has a personality), or preferences. The only thing I have in common with this y/n is I would also be noona to 3racha (we will not talk about that age gap).

I do not have preferences like hers, or even personality traits like hers (her distaste for being emotional for example, i just let myself go there). I only know what a femdom is from reading fanfic, I would probably never participate in a polyamorous relationship. Nothing about this y/n jives with me.

BUT IT'S SUCH A DAMN GOOD STORY!!!!

It doesn't matter that I don't closely relate to her. I recognize the universal struggle to trust, to be vulnerable, to care for someone and question if it's returned. I adore how each of 3racha is characterized in this. I both get angry at and feel pity for Chan. Changbin is a dreamboat in this, rich af and beyond caring.

And the scene that sticks, like permanently. When y/n goes to sit in Jisung's lap, just to be held. He holds her there, tracing patterns on her back for eternity in my mind. It is the softest thing and a moment that loops in my brain.

I love this story. I love the growth of chan and y/n, especially. I love the openness the characters discuss and have consensual sex. I love the nct side characters, among other kpop idols who pop in. I love that the ending is such that I'm hopeful for everyone involved.

(did i mention I love jisung in this one? yes? no? i do. love him so).

so, apologies for the random tangent about readership, but when i think of this story, the fact that I am not this y/n tells me that a good story doesn't mean I self-insert. It means good characters, compelling arcs, and something to say.

bravo, becca. it's just so masterful.

more & more series masterlist~

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You really want to get started. You have three beautiful men here to play with.

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“What if I don’t want to play by your rules?” “Then we don’t have to play.” 

     without a word (explicit) 9.8k ║ f reader x 3RACHA (Jisung focus)

“You can’t run away forever.”  “Yes, I can. I’m good at it. I’m doing it right now.”

     in the rain (explicit) 9.7k ║ f reader x 3RACHA (Changbin focus)

“It wasn’t a big deal.” “Sometimes little things hurt a lot. Papercuts. Stubbed toes. People who you trust treating you badly, even if they don’t mean it.”

     wishing you would  (mature) 8.6k ║ f reader x 3RACHA

It seemed like he really liked you. There’s so much to say. You can’t say any of it.

     again & again (explicit) 11k ║ f reader x 3RACHA

And when he opens his eyes and looks lazily down the bed at you, this feels like something you could do again and again.

[lastfairdealgonedown]

everything under the sun is in tune

summary – in which the quiet moments greatly overpower the present dismay that drives its roots into amphoreus -> aglaea x afab!reader

includes – descriptions of aglaea & reader both being bare (not in the suggestive sense!), aglaea tugged a few strings [get it] to get the reader into the chrysos heirs baths, might not be too lore accurate, rare footage of me writing fluff (expect 10 angst fics after this). reader uses terms of affection commonly used in greek

a/n – got aglaea and failed a uni math exam, merely hours apart. 10/10 use of luck if i may humbly say so myself

In times of great turmoil, it is of outmost importance that all remains under control, and that the citizens remain peaceful. A nation is not defined by its land, as much as it is defined by its people, after all; As such, undoing knots from threads — in this case, Amphoreus — requires as much careful hands, as it requires stable ones.

Needless to say, it is the hands of the Chrysos Heirs that keep said thread stable. They are base and lever, the driving force behind Amphoreus and its saving grace. Their position requires them to be ready to take on anything, anytime, and as self-explanatory as that is, it is also taxing.

So, to remain on point, the Chrysos Heirs, too, must rest, which is a concept that your lover seems to forget more often than not.

Which is why you do your own part in saving Amphoreus: ..by forcing her to rest, of course. After all, who can resist the warm water of the baths? As above as she is from shallow temptations of the flesh, she is not totally immune to them. If not for you tempting her, she would probably work herself to the bo—

Ouch. “My apologies. I did not mean to harm you; Your hair tangles.. very easily.”

Lightly shaking your head, enough to not disturb Aglaea's work in your hair, you dismiss her apology. It's not her fault, after all; You are certain that she did a great job untangling any small knots prior to attempting to braid it. Flawless, per usual. “No, don't worry- It was never one to behave for anyone, not even for me.”

Humming behind you in concentration, your lover shifts to change her position behind you to something that further closes the distance, and allows her to move her arms more efficiently, “Whatever do you mean? It is ‘behaving’ perfectly- Matter of fact, I am already half-way through the braid.”

Huh?

Turning to peer over your shoulder as slowly as you can, Aglaea pauses her movements to allow you to look, gently raising her hands with strands of your hair in-between her slim fingers in order to show you the length of the braid so far. Impressive. You knew her hands were very lightweight and swift, but experiencing it first hand was.. a whole another thing. “Ah, you really are almost done.”

She hears you muttering something to yourself, most likely in shock, as you turn around to face forward again and let her continue her work. “Say, my soul.. When we have enough of the water, shall we bask under the sun, for a few minutes? You can head back to work, after that.”

There is silence on her end for a few seconds, seemingly thinking it over- It's obvious, in how the twirling movements of her hands slow down in your hair, now merely following muscle memory. “Bask under the sun..” she mutters to herself. “I am not opposed to it; I was thinking I could stay a bit more after, as well. There aren't any pending emergencies for the time being-”

“-so we can spend more time together?”

“..Yes.”

With a smile of triumph, you finally turn around to face her when she finishes your braid and ties the end with something that looks almost like a much shorter golden thread, hair whipping forward from the abruptness of the movement. “Glad to hear you're finally taking my offer to rest- It's been.. a while, since we've been like this.”

“That, it has been.” Eyes fluttering closed, a subtle sigh escapes from her nose when you lean forward and kiss her cheek, wet skin coming into contact with hers as you lean forward, hands resting on her legs to stabilize yourself.

In response, the faintest of smiles sneaks into her expression, leaning in and kissing your temple. Aglaea is pleased only by that which is beautiful, and needless to say she is very pleased by what she is seeing. You are beautiful like this; and she will never cease to remind you.

Her hands gently run down your arms, then move to your torso and drift down to your waist, simply admiring. There was nothing suggestive about the way she felt you — after all, she is one for truth, and bareness is a way of truth, accompanied by vulnerability. She is currently true to you, and you are true to her; No threads required.

“You are the epitome of beauty,” she mutters under her breath, leaning in to drift her lips over your cheek, whilst her hands travel up to your face — to cradle you gently, lovingly — as if she is holding the most seamless of fabrics. The corners of your lips twitch up upon hearing her, leaning just a bit closer and resting your hands on her waist to support yourself, legs outstretched behind you underneath the water, “Look who's talking.” you respond, quiet chuckle bubbling up in your throat as your eyes flutter shut peacefully, under her meticulous touch.

The two of you remain there for the time being; She hovers the pads of her fingers over your skin, just about everywhere she can reach, eyelashes occasionally fluttering, and you lean forward to press against her, resting your head against her collarbones. “Comfortable?” You can almost hear the source of her voice, when you're this close. “Very, my heart.”

Her hands drift up your spine, then down, and up again; Dragging her fingers slowly. She does not need vision to know the perfection of your skin. She knows you by presence alone, the way the air shifts when you're around, how the threads tied around her careful fingers tug a little more, almost eagerly. She may not know you by vision, but you overwhelm every other sense she has, to the point it is all yours.

To think that peace is eternal, frankly, is daft. In a world where our fate is what we are allotted and nothing more, it is not exactly easy to shake the balance and certainty of the threads, for such is our lot; If peace is to end and be replaced with turmoil, we are powerless against it. Nevertheless, many take it as a welcome challenge to try and shake the threads out of spite for fate's ruthlessness, seize them into our hands vehemently and alter them, cut them if we must and ultimately tie them elsewhere. That, is exactly why your hands tighten on her waist slightly when she moves to get up.

“Where are you going?” Her hands drag a bit against your skin as they withdraw, before resting on your shoulders and guiding you to sit up in the warm water. She is loath to make you get up when you are so comfortable, but you are too easy to predict, "You are falling asleep; I was merely about to fetch the towels and dry ourselves up, before heading back to our chamber."

With your head lulling from side to side and desperately trying to remain awake (and failing), you deny her claims and wave your hand dismissively, "Falling asleep? Me?" you pause, biting back a yawn and covering your mouth, "Don't know what you're talking abo- Did you just tighten the threads?"

"Attempting to lie to me is futile, you know this."

Chuckling, you force yourself to stand and cover yourself with the towel she hands you, tying it around your torso and humming, movements slow, prolonged and relaxed, "Oh, I know very well." You watch as your lover takes her sweet time getting dressed, adjusting her chiton on her shoulders and fitting her golden accessories around her arms, "Say, my heart.. have I told you you're beautiful today?"

The corners of Aglaea's lips twitch into a smile, "You did, just this morning." Adjusting her hair accessories, she makes her way to where your clothes are, neatly folded close to hers; She still remembers the love and care she put into this specific piece, when making it for you. She truly wishes she could see how beautiful you must look donning it, but for the time being, touch will have to do.

Making her way to you with your clothes in hand, she hums and stops right in front of you, "Now, let us get you dressed, and be on our way."

"Yes, love."

[gatorbites-imagines]

hi!! This is my first request, ever!! I am in dire need of more Tim Drake content. I absolutely love the way you write. Perhaps a continuation of the 2024 kinktober one? Or just anything you’re feeling.

I love your writing so much I don’t care what you write, just something with Tim please (been going down a DC rabbit hole) 🙏

Don’t push yourself if you don’t want to do this ask, just thought I’d try my luck !!

Take care of yourself!

-🖍️ anon

Tim Drake x male reader

Headcanons

Reader is a knight, somehow. Because I’ve been eating up kingdom come 2 all week. And you probably get real sweaty under all that armor.

Yall would be shocked how hard I was struggling not to add a whole chunk about feet in this, for some reason. I don’t even think I’m into that??

How you got to the present doesn’t matter much. Maybe you are some magical hero from times long passed who live forever, or you are some chosen one from a different realm. Maybe you are even from our time, but you were chosen by some ancient deity to become their sword. You were a knight, somehow.

Being a knight meant you needed to train, a lot. Be it with a sword, a spear, bows, maces, no on and so forth. You also needed to train in your armor, which of course had to be a full body covering one, but whatever gives you power lets you be flexible in it.

At least your boyfriend, Tim, loved to watch you work out. It made the suffering of the sweaty armor and grueling work somewhat worth it.

Tim was a Gothamite, so of course hes into having a boyfriend who can slice the head off an enemy from horseback, or having a boyfriend who can hit someone thousands of meters away with an old-school bow.

You also both knew that Tim loved all your training for one other very important reason. Or maybe it was multiple other reasons. It meant you got to throw him around, sometimes with armor and sometimes without. But it also meant that you were sweating buckets at the end of the day.

It was a bit of a ritual for Tim to help you take your layers off, all the way down to your chemise and braise, which would be almost see-through from sweat as it stuck to your body like a second layer of skin.

Tim, being a bat, meant it took you a while to realize just how into it your boyfriend was. He was good at hiding it, also feeling embarrassed about it and all.

This meant that in the beginning, Tim really was just helping you take all the shiny armor off, saving the memories of your scent and the feeling of your sweaty body for later, when he was finally alone.

You get it out of him one way or another, most likely from feeling real hot under the collar yourself, so you pull him in for a kiss. Being all up and personal without the layers of metal between you, also means you can feel just how hard Tim is.

It takes some prying, kissing, and you hooking both your arms around him so his face is smushed into your sweaty chest hair for Tim to admit his attraction to you like this. He always loves you, but like this? God, you are like ambrosia.

After that you keep letting him help undress you after long days of battle or training, but now you have a better eye for what turns him on.

It’s hard to suppress your own shudder of excitement when you see his eyes laser focused on your pits when you stretch your arms behind your head, to shake out the soreness.

It was hard to imagine any Bat allowing themselves to want something so much, but it also made you feel almost warm inside, knowing Tim felt safe enough with you to express these wants and urges.

And yeah, maybe you start really making a show out of it, stretching and groaning, flexing your body to show off your sweat-glistening body, posing just right for the light to reflect off of you like a glazed donut.

Tim was of course a huge fan, burying his hands in your body and feeling you all over, only seeming to grow more giddy with time as you let him get his fill. He did seem really shy about wanting to lick your pits when you asked though, but he clearly wanted it.

Maybe it started out smaller, like kissing and rutting together after training or battles after you get the armor off.

Then it becomes you grabbing the back of Tims head and telling him to lick your neck or chest, and Tim is very happy to go along with it. When you coax his face up under your arms he freezes for a moment before just burying it in there, snuffling like a pig in mud when he really gets going.

It’s a bit of an ego boost, to have a guy like Tim huffing up your scent and moaning like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever smelled and tasted. His desperate rutting against you only adding to it, like the cherry on top of the sundae.

Coming at Tim in armor makes him do a doubletake, since you went into this training session without a cod piece for your armor, and the chainmail pulled up and to the side just enough to give Tim enough room to bury his face between your thighs.

It becomes one of his favorite spots to be, kneeling by your feet, face tucked into the area where your thighs meet your body, his nose pressed into that crease as his tongue laps at you. Even better if you grip at his hair with your armor-clad hands.

The clinking of your armor becomes a bit like a pavloving response, in both of you. Specifically, the sound of your armor being taken off, as well as the smell of the polish you use for it. It’s a bit embarrassing sometimes, but at least you have a layer of metal to hide how hard you get sometimes.

And as much as you let Tim lick and worship your body after workouts, you still drag him into the showers afterwards. For a good winddown, but also because you guys have so many friends and allies with sensitive noses. You don’t wanna scar then more than you two probably have.

[thesensteawitch]

A L♡VE Reading You'll Never Forget 🕊️🤍

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Pile 1

Your Past Lives Love Energy

As I am starting this reading, it's 1:23. I see the energy of multiple suitors/lovers in your reading. Maybe because we are tapping into your past lives, that's why so many energies are desperate to be seen. And perhaps that was exactly the case with you. So many people wanted your attention, and you did show them affection, but they all weren't a perfect match. The suitors you came across weren't the first time you met them. You knew them, again, from another lifetime. No heart dares to sync with another if not already carrying an unfinished story. These stories were desperate to find their climax (good or bad doesn't matter). But it wasn't about them; it was about you. Your life looked really fun from the outside. Anyone who would witness your life would think that you've got everything. Deep down you were very intelligent, fair, and even intuitive, but when it came to expressing what's there in your heart, you could only express it in tears. No word made sense to you, and these cycles kept repeating, and love remained a fantasy between many choices you had.

Moving on was a task you would dedicate to a single lifetime. It was enormously challenging for you to not see the beauty in another, and hence, you found it terribly difficult to let go. You're from that era where Katherine Pierce once innocently said, “If we cease to believe in love, why would we want to live?” Don't get me wrong, fairytale love is real, but if it's a fantasy of your mind or if it's really happening in reality for you, it's something you need discernment to understand. Your soul has crossed paths with many lovers looking for justice in love without realizing that it's you who must do justice to yourself first. You ask me how? By speaking up. By learning how to communicate the depth you feel in your heart, because the more you would have spoken, the easier it could have been for you to see the truth and let go.

Your Present Life Love Energy

All the hard work that you avoided in previous lifetimes has joined hands with your fate to fall upon you in this lifetime. Fate hasn't been all cruel to you in this lifetime but has helped you by igniting the curiosity within you to understand human psychology and even relationship dynamics. You may be a keen reader in this lifetime or someone who loves to gather information on different subjects. In this lifetime you're very sensitive and a good listener. With age, your intuition is only going to get stronger. There's something about scents too. Either you smell really good or you've got a strong memory attached to different scents. Try smelling different fragrances, and you'll be taken back in time. Currently in your love life you're learning a major lesson about being patient because you're doing the healing work you avoided in your past. The divine asks you to not develop pride while waiting for the one because you may end up feeling that you don't need anyone at all. Do you see the polarity? Your soul has been so tired looking for love that now, when it's finally being forced to heal and is realizing the magic of healing, you may end up feeling you don't need anyone at all. If you look from a healthy point of view, then you do need someone. And deep down you still do; it's just your ego trying to protect you from going through the same painful cycle again. Heal that ego too. Currently I see karma being balanced in your love life. You and those you crossed paths with are receiving what they have sown. The justice you once sought is happening behind the scenes while you're healing and learning to surrender. Currently where you're at in your love life isn't easy, and it even makes you furious at times, but in the end, it's going to be worth it. All the innocence that you lost is going to come back to you. I don't know why I keep seeing Katherine Pierce from Vampire Diaries in my mind. She too lost her innocence believing that love is everything and ended up running from it eventually. The sun is shining so bright while I'm writing this, and you also have the sun card in the end with the 10 of cups on the bottom. The color yellow is very prominent in your reading. Maybe the song “Yellow” has some messages for your current reality. Rainbows and angels are also very significant. Why do I feel like you've been looking for a lover that divine promise you'll find in this realm? And it's been lifetimes. Tiring, isn't it? You're so innocent by heart, pile 1. Did God tell you that first you'll have to go through these trials and learn a few lessons? Stubborn child, you don't listen either, but now you're listening attentively. If God would have told you what you would have to go through to unite with your person, you would have never taken on this long journey.

Your Future Life Love Energy & Yes OR No Question (Think of a Yes or No Question after picking your pile that will be answered in the end.) are available on my Patreon. Go check out the extended version of this reading.

Pile 2

Your Past Lives Love Energy

In your past life, I see a betrayal in your married life. Now either you betrayed or you were betrayed; take it how it resonates because this same energy may have been carried in this lifetime as well. Nevertheless, let's look into your past lives first. Ah! Now I get it. In every lifetime, you two are fated to meet to heal this wound of betrayal. But you don't heal or forgive or choose self-love but rather keep betraying one another in every lifetime. In one lifetime you betrayed this person, and then in another they betrayed you. This way the roles just kept reversing. I feel that your ego was too big to accept your mistake in your past lives. Divine was testing your commitment to your self-respect, but again, in another lifetime, you chose this person. You and your person were a mirror to each other. You were so similar yet so different. You two were meant to heal in separation, but you chose to get married. I see this energy of young love. I literally heard, “'Cause we were just kids when we fell in love. Not knowing what it was...” This love was naive but full of passion. You both never dared to understand the depth of true love but mistook love for passion and adventure. And as you both grew up, all those dreams felt like mere fantasy, where love that could have bloomed into something more suffocated between ego and otherworldly responsibilities. And one of them was your kids. After having kids, both of your lives changed, and even the passion was lost in your connection. I also see that you or your partner wanted a baby boy or girl, but the gender wasn't what he/she expected. Another reason for conflict in your connection. It's also possible that you had to marry because you or your person got pregnant before marriage. Many red flags were overlooked in this connection because you both married young or were young at heart/not much experienced in love. I am also sensing that you both were somewhat religious or spiritual in previous lifetimes. Maybe your marriages were even fixed when you were kids because of similar backgrounds or beliefs, but as you grew up and gained maturity, you realized that what you two had was everything but love.

Your Present Life Love Energy

In your present life the divine is giving you a chance to let go of a karmic connection present in your life. Whenever you try to move on, this person appears. I feel you both have an unhealthy attachment to each other. I also see hidden love. You or your partner are in love with someone else but still can't let go of this past connection. This cycle just keeps on repeating. No matter how much one invests in this connection, it just never blooms. Again, as I said, there's passion, attraction, but no love. Literally no cups card came out this time, which shows emotions. Only security, a false sense of safety, and undeniable attraction toward each other. Whatever this is, it's not good. The universe is nudging you to take the first step and get yourself out of this connection. Don't wait for the other person to end this connection or just because they come back doesn't mean it's meant to be. In this lifetime, this cycle must end. The card at the bottom of my oracle literally says, “Don't let your past hold you back.”

Your aura has been affected by this connection immensely. Both of you feel like you're not good enough. You've spent so many lifetimes with this person that you don't believe that there's a higher form of love out there for you. So you both just keep settling for each other. If you've been seeing too many angel numbers or signs regarding this person, then the universe is pushing you to let go. You need to cut through the illusion. You both can only heal in separation. I don't know who is reading this, but I feel that the masculine tries to move on, but the feminine keeps coming back in this lifetime. I also heard, “No matter how much is given to the other person, the greed never ends!”

Even in this lifetime you've got similar beliefs. For some good reason, you both are being given strength by the divine to overcome the challenges and let go of this connection. The end of this connection must happen for your new lives to begin otherwise this will just keep on going. One of you is really desperate. This person can't let go at all. Even I feel exhausted with this energy. I hear, “I really thought you were on my side, but now there's nobody by my side. I need you, I need you, I need you right now. So don't let me, don't let me, don't let me down. I think I'm losing my mind now.” One of you just keeps making up fake scenarios in your head.

Your Future Life Love Energy & Yes OR No Question (Think of a Yes or No Question after picking your pile that will be answered in the end.) are available on my Patreon. Go check out the extended version of this reading.

Pile 3

Your Past Lives Love Energy

Your love story begins beautifully but later turns into a war. I heard that you were sold a lie. You were just not betrayed by your person but by many people from your life. They all lied to you about something, and you got played. The responsibility of your relationship was solely carried by you. You were sold dreams that became your worst nightmares. And your person? They were nowhere to be found. You can't even find them in this reading. This is a mess. It can even trigger you, so please read further at your own risk. I will try to be as gentle as possible. You're safe with me, but you can have your own shortcomings, so I'm not going to force you to read further. But if you know you've got the strength to read further, then let's move forward. Some of you were even made to marry multiple partners. This literally destroyed your mental health and sacral chakra. If in this lifetime you often get severe headaches or pain in your lower abdomen, it can be due to this past life energy. Your sacral, third eye, and crown chakras may need healing. It's also possible that in many lifetimes you were tricked into marrying someone or being with someone who wasn't a good match for you. You were kind to everybody, but nobody was kind to you. People took advantage of your kindness. They always had an ulterior motive with you. This has happened to you many times in different lives.

Let's understand why this happened with you. All these people saw your light and were energy vampires. You were too innocent to help yourself or truly see the mask that they were wearing. There was something special about you, and somehow being near you triggered their shadow sides. That's why they did wrong to you. People were drawn to your aura like a moth to a flame. You always had ego clashes with your loved ones. You were the black sheep of your family with no help to understand how to release the heavy energies you were taking on from others'. You've overgiven in love. Your love language was acts of service. You were so devoted that even on your deathbed you would make a cup of coffee for your lover. For some reason I feel I'm looking into your recent past life because I feel something happened even before this. There must be a reason for why all of this happened to you. Opposite genders were highly attracted to you, but no one was in love with you. It's possible that you may have your Venus in the first, sixth, or eighth house. It's also possible you may have Taurus in any of these houses. A lot was taken away from you in your past lives when it comes to love, and yet you still believed in love because your soul knew that love exists. In past lives your love life was no less than a horror movie. But after this, in your present birth, something changes.

Your Present Life Love Energy

Your cards are already so excited to come out. This life is full of wisdom and clarity for you. Your painful past has led to spiritual awakenings in this lifetime. Even in this lifetime, you ended up manifesting similar connections as you were heavily carrying the energy of your past life, but you had divine's full support in helping you come out of the past trauma. Divine has intervened so many times. I also heard, “You're an angel in the shape of my mom. When God takes you back, say hallelujah.” In this lifetime, love means God to you. That's going to be your first definition of love. I already hear your child being so grateful for your existence in the future. I know we are looking at the present, but this message wanted to come forward. I feel you have met many karmic partners even in this lifetime. These could have been really short-term connections because God didn't allow them to be dragged longer. Because this lifetime is all about awakening you to the truth. The more you understand the divine, the more you understand yourself and your past connections. You've gained so much wisdom when it comes to relationships that you can now even guide others.

Currently I do see a blockage in your life to manifest your true love. But there's nothing to worry about, as this blockage is going to soon be illuminated to you. Very soon I see you meeting your true love. One last shadow needs to be dealt with, and this has something to do with your thought patterns. I feel that sometimes you don't believe that the best can unfold for you in your love life. You know that true love exists, but you don't know what it feels like, which is why you can't manifest it. Ah! Okay! Now I get it, pile 3. You are not supposed to think or visualize about your love life at all because somewhere you end up visualizing something that used to happen in your previous connection. If you don't know what divine love or true love feels like, then how can you visualize it? You can't visualize something you've never experienced or even witnessed in your surroundings. You're being guided to only ask the divine to show you or make you feel how the world would look when you're with your true love. And you'll see the physical manifestation of it. Currently you must be noticing love around you, and it makes you think, “Oh, I've been through all this. There's nothing divine about it.” Don't visualize, please, pile 3. God listens to you. Ask God to show you, and I can assure you that you will see a totally different world around you.

You're very close to meeting your person; just don't become too critical of them when you meet them, as you may end up doing that. Because I do see this pile has healed themselves a lot, but this can make you overly critical of others. If there's anything at pause in your life, then it's your love life. But the energy is gaining momentum, and very soon you'll meet your person. Also, I do see someone from the past is still in your energy, and they may show up again. This is going to be your final test before you unite with someone God sends.

Your Future Life Love Energy & Yes OR No Question (Think of a Yes or No Question after picking your pile that will be answered in the end.) are available on my Patreon. Go check out the extended version of this reading.

Pile 4

Your Past Lives Love Energy

Oh my pile 4. You've had so little time for love in your past lifetimes. You were so busy making the ends meet that you never truly got lucky enough to experience true love. You tried to understand love, maybe wrote something on it, but it was filled with sorrow. When people read your words, they cried because they could feel your pain, your loneliness. Your work life brought a lot of success to you but no love. Also, as you tried to understand love intellectually, you could never truly listen to the divine's wisdom on love. All your written work or spoken word had a spark of intelligence but no wisdom. You invested in the wrong relationships in some lifetimes because you were so disconnected from your intuition. In one life you lived a complete life where you had a family, money, kids, and pets, but again, no love. In this particular lifetime, I'm seeing you as a woman. After many lifetimes, your soul wondered what was it really missing to see? What was it doing wrong? It again came back to earth to learn its lesson on love, and yet again it failed. In every lifetime you've experienced all sorts of relationships and yet couldn't find love. In every lifetime, your soul challenged itself and had a relationship totally different from its previous lifetime. You had a limited approach toward love despite investing in a different relationship in a different lifetime. God, pile 4, you were just missing opening yourself up to the infiniteness of this universe. You didn't allow yourself to let go of control for once and let the divine take care of your love life. You were hell-bent on solving this mystery with your limited perception.

But one thing is something that I'm sure of is that in every lifetime you found something new about love, and it brought you one step closer to your destiny: to truly understand love. Some of you even recklessly left for Paris only to understand love. You were very clever in your past lifetimes and thought that love was a competition. You wanted to show the world that somehow your love story is the greatest of all time or better than everyone else's. This may even have led to a downfall of your relationship with your partner. Pile 4, this part of your reading is making me laugh. I mean, your pursuit to understand love is adorable. I heard, “You just want attention; you don't want my heart.” I feel like you've written such long paragraphs on betrayals while you've never been betrayed. You've forced yourself to feel all kinds of love. My God! There should be a movie made on this storyline. It's like your partner didn't even do anything, and you made it a situation overly dramatic only to write something on it later. Hahaha, omg!

Your Present Life Love Energy

In this lifetime you're very conflicted on what you really think of love. If someone asks you what you think of love, you either end up getting into an argument with that person or you just surrender and leave the room. You feel like you know what love means, and yet you're confused. You intellectually know so much, but you don't feel that you can define love in one statement that can fit in every situation. Your one argument contradicts the other. You feel like love is a battle that needs to be won. But all you seek is peace. You're finding it difficult to keep your cool or be patient. I feel even self-love is something you're only intellectually aware of. Your soul is finding it difficult to understand its purpose in this lifetime. Some of you may even be good at psychology but bad at feeling things deeply. Surrender is something that you don't know how to do. Only taking action towards self love is going to bring some changes in your love life. It's also possible that your sun may be weakly placed or debilitated in your chart (sun in Libra). I feel in this lifetime your thoughts never match with your partner. You come off as intellectual, and love needs emotions.

The divine doesn't want you to give up on your pursuit of understanding love at all, though. But I do see the need for you to read some spiritual books and ask God to show you what divine love looks like. I do see change happening in your love life, and this is only possible with the divine's help. At present nothing is certain in your love life, but if you make some adjustments within yourself, you'll see some shifts. To get closer to God, you need to understand how to contact God first. Meditation is another way. I do see that you have this desire to come out of your mental limitations and surrender to the unknown and experience the true bliss of love. You are very good with words, but love isn't words. Those who can't speak still love. How? Those who can't hear, speak, or see still love. What's love really? You're very close to meeting someone who is going to be the love you've been craving for in all these lifetimes. But it's only possible if you're willing to see your limitations and let God do the magic. Now you'll say, “Oh, but I'm not stopping God from sprinkling some magic on me!” Well, you are. You're not an empty vessel through which God can speak. Remember in your previous lifetimes? You could speak every language of love, and yet they all were missing the magic. You need God to speak through you.

You need to tell the story of your life to the world, remember?

Your Future Life Love Energy & Yes OR No Question (Think of a Yes or No Question after picking your pile that will be answered in the end.) are available on my Patreon. Go check out the extended version of this reading.

[pet-shop-of-horror-fan]

I am not assuming shit. You just read the words "kink" and "critical" in the same post and jumped to thinking I am anti-kink. That's a you issue, not a me issue.

Looking at a person who talks about problems in the kink community and treating them like they are inherently anti-kink is a core issue with the community. Like the other ones I listed. I would know myself and I do listen to people. Even people who I don't agree with on the matter of kink.

Anyway, you can't say it's just a fantasy when the person interested in ageplay is an admitted or proven pedo. Or a necro, or a zoo, or other scum. If there is any way for those people to be morally neutral, it would be if they do not feed into it. If you are going to coddle rapists and would-be rapist, go do it somewhere else.

Anyone who tells you not to think critically about kink is full of shit.

First off, you should be thinking critically about everything, and nothing and no one is immune from criticism.

Second, those bigotry based kinks do attract people whose kinks are a reflection of what they believe. And there are those with “dark” kinks who do want to do these kinds of things in real life.

Third, people will use kink to self harm, even without realizing it.

Fourth, there are community issues and being overly sensitive to any and all criticism helps no one. It only protects your ego.

Fifth, claiming that anyone who is a real a bigot or a dangerous person is a faker and was not a part of the community only helps your ego. It’s not true, and it enables people to continue to hurt others.

Many people get hurt because the community does not want to deal with its own problems. People get abused by their partners and are told that it is not abuse. People get run out because they dared to try and report a respected member of the community of misconduct. This matters more then your hurt feelings from someone telling you your kink is bad. Does not matter what you kink is, this is a fact.

Stop deflecting and deal with the real issues.